


To Become a Hunter

by vedaine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassin Castiel (Supernatural), Assassin Dean Winchester, Body Dysphoria, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Horses, Hunter Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, Hunter Training, King John Winchester, King Michael (Supernatural), M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Oral Sex, Princess Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Trans Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vedaine/pseuds/vedaine
Summary: Cas was mistakenly born a princess, and cruel treatment at the hands of his father the king force him to flee. In a rival kingdom, finally free to present as male, he finds a friend in a young man named Dean. Together, they train to become Hunters, the kingdom’s elite assassins, and work together to get Cas the gender-confirming body modifications he needs. But when they graduate and are given their first assassination target, it will return Cas closer to his father than he’d ever expected.





	1. To Escape a Prison

**Author's Note:**

> Rated E for non-graphic rape in first chapter and underage sexual content. Otherwise, sex and violence are fairly tame.
> 
> Cas’s experiences with gender and body dysphoria are based on my own and do not reflect the experiences of all trans people. Every trans person's journey and gender is unique, and there is no one right way to present and process transness.

Cas had ditched his handmaiden and was on his way to meet his older cousin Gabriel in the closed courtyard behind the laundry building. The boy had slipped her grasp while she was in the privy, and had stopped in the laundry building to exchange his tight blue silk gown and stockings for undyed linen breeches, a roll of bandages to bind his breasts, and a tunic. Padding softly on bare feet, he entered the courtyard, looking around for his cousin.

A small prick against his temple, and then another on his cheek. He turned to his right and glared at Gabriel, who was flicking pebbles at Cas’s face.

“Quit it, Gabe,” Cas said, rubbing his cheek.

“Hey-a, Cassie.” Gabe was dressed like Cas, in loose-fitting and simple breaches, but he was bare-chested. He was holding two rapiers, and tossed one of them to Cas. 

Cas caught it handily, adjusting his grip as he spun the tip of the sword in a figure eight movement. He then walked to the center of the courtyard, stood at a ready position, and waited for Gabe to join him.

Gabriel, as the king’s nephew and as a respected member of the all-male court council, had been trained in the fighting arts since he was a small child. Cas, in a fit of jealousy, had punched him at the summer solstice banquet the previous year, saying that it was unfair that Gabe was given the chance to learn to fight while Cas was forced into more feminine pursuits. To Cas’s surprise, Gabe had agreed, and offered to teach Cas swordwork and hand-to-hand combat.

“En garde,” Gabe said, walking towards Cas. He used the blunt side of his rapier to adjust Cas’s stance, placing the boy’s body weight evenly over both feet. Once he approved of Cas’s stance, Gabe took a similar position in front of Cas.

“Praise de fer,” he called out. Cas followed the composite blade movements: bind, mini-bind, envelopment, opposition. Gabe took the complementary movements, meeting each of Cas’s thrusts and parries: beat, expulsion, glide, press.

For the next hour, Cas and Gabe moved together smoothly, following the drills and attack-defend combinations that the older cousin called. Every so often, Gabe would pause their actions to correct Cas’s stance or movement, and each time Cas thought to himself how lucky he was to have such a good cousin.

Both boys were panting as they took a break to drink some water from the well in the courtyard.

“You still stuck in that I’m-a-boy phase?” Gabe asked as he began to recover his breath.

“Gods, you ass. It’s not a phase; that’s a cruel thing to say. I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just—it’s a nasty joke that the gods have played on me. I don’t know what I did in a previous life to be so deserving of their wrath, and I pray every night for their forgiveness so that they can fix my body. But they’re so silent. And I don’t dare talk to a priest about it, lest I be locked away for insanity.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Gabriel admitted. “But it’s not my life, and—”

“No, it’s not your life. It’s mine, and it’s horrible, and cruel, and—” Cas choked up. “I’m expected to be the perfect princess, get married to a man assigned to me, be subservient to my husband, have babies that I don’t even raise myself—it’s not the life I’m meant for.”

The courtyard air was still, quiet; a pregnant pause caused by the emotions running through Cas’s mind. The unhappiness and fear, sorrow and resignation. Because, as long as he was considered the princess, the king’s only daughter, that was the future he was relegated to. Had he been borne out of his mother with a male body like he should have been, it wouldn’t be an issue—princes were allowed to fight, to be independent and free, and, most importantly, to marry for love.

Cas and Gabe had begun fencing again—“parry riposte, disengage to feint, lunge”—when they were interrupted.

The courtyard gate slammed open, startling both Cas and Gabe. The king of the Empyrean Empire strode in, followed by an assortment of servants and valets. He was resplendent in purple ermine-trimmed robes, making both boys look shabby by comparison. 

Pausing briefly at the courtyard entry, the king strode up to Gabe and slapped him across the face, one of his rings slashing the man’s cheek.

“Gabriel, I am disappointed in you. You know better than to encourage Cassandra’s masculine interests. She is delicate, and we must keep her that way. Activity causes her to gain calluses and unsightly muscles, and will drive away her suitors.”

Cas internally flinched every time the king called him ‘Cassandra’ or used feminine pronouns.

“Uncle Michael—your majesty—it was only in fun. Cassie has not lost any of her feminine wiles out here. If anything, the exercise will bring an attractive flush to her face, and make her skin glisten like the new spring dew.”

Okay, Cas thought, Gabe was laying it on pretty thick.

“Perhaps you are right, nephew. Cassandra, dear daughter, I will forgive you this one time. You will still be contained to your chambers for a week and fed only bread and water, but it’s because I love you and need you to obey my commands. I don’t ever want to see you out here dressed so indecently nor partaking in fighting arts again, do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy,” Cas said demurely, curtsying to his father. He and Gabe were just going to have to be more careful from here on out.

* * *

It had been two days since Cas was locked in his chambers, alone, with a maid coming by once a day to deliver bread and water and to empty his chamberpot. He was rereading a book on eastern fighting styles, when a knock at his door brought Cas out of his daydream.

“Yes?”

“Cassandra, it’s your father. I’m here to talk.” The king’s voice boomed through the wood of the door as he unlocked it. Wearing blood red robes and a gold chain belt, the king swept in, followed by five of his personal guards.

“How can I help you, father?” The king started pacing, looking nervous, which only made Cas nervous as well. “Daddy?”

“Look, darling daughter, I—with the tension arising from the kingdom of Lawrence in the east, threatening Empyrea, it’s—I can’t have you acting like this anymore. You need to be a princess, to take your place in court. I heard about this nonsense that you believe the gods placed you in the wrong body—”

“How did you—”

“Really, Cassandra?” The king sighed. “You think I don’t have sources everywhere in this palace? You think your diary is safe from me, from your handmaiden?”

Cas blanched. Everything was in his diary. It was the only place he could share his thoughts without worry of judgement. It was also incredibly detailed, including descriptions of his current anatomy, doodles of the anatomy he should have had, and some downright pornographic scenarios that he would like to undertake if he had the appropriate sexual organs.

“Daddy, I can explain—”

“No. I’m sorry, Cassandra. This is what has to be done. You need to be reminded of your place, reminded of what you are, reminded of what you’re meant for.” The king rose and headed to the door. “Just remember I love you, princess. This is for your own good.”

The king left, locking the door behind him. The five guards stayed behind, looking at Cas.

One of them, who Cas knew to be the captain of the guard, a man named Raphael, spoke first.

“Princess Cassandra. We must ask you now to disrobe and present yourself on the bed.”

“What? No—”

“Either you may disrobe yourself with the dignity befitting a princess, or I will remove your gown for you. It is up to you. Your father has instructed us to be gentle with your face, leaving no marks, and with your canal, so that we do not harm your ability to produce offspring. But we have no such instructions regarding the rest of your body. I am not a patient man so you’d best decide quickly.”

Cas began to shake. This couldn’t be happening, his father wouldn’t allow this, right? But his father had left these men in the room, left them for Cas. The king’s cryptic words suddenly made sense. How could Cas ever again believe his father loved him when the man condoned corrective rape against his only child?

While Cas’s mind was racing, Raphael decided he had waited long enough. The princess was beautiful—‘her’ olive skin, wavy blue-black hair, and giant clear blue eyes were written about in poems and songs in the city’s lower quarters. Raphael motioned to his second-in-command Uriel, and they stepped towards Cas, withdrawing daggers from their belts.

Slice, rip, tear, until Cas’s dress was in tatters on the ground.

Until his corset lay torn in half, his small and perky breasts exposed to the air, pink nipples hardening in the chill.

Until his under-breeches joined the dress, and he was naked, his hairless groin exposed to the five men in front of him.

Tears were running down Cas’s face as he stood proud, tall, and bare in front of the guards. Thin bloody lines crossed his body where Raphael and Uriel’s knives had cut too deep through the fabrics. They stung, and Cas was terrified of what would happen next, but he would not give the men the satisfaction of seeing him break, of telling his father that he had broken.

Raphael grabbed Cas around the neck with a growl and shoved him face-first across the back of the settee. The guard then untied his own breeches with his other hand.

Cas began to fight back in earnest, but Uriel grabbed his wrists and tied them behind his back. With a jolt, Cas felt something reach between his legs—it was Raphael’s fingers, searching for his slit.

“Bitch isn’t even wet for me,” he said. “That doesn’t matter, highness. I’ll take you dry if I have to.”

“No, please—“ Cas choked out. “You… you promised my father… not to damage—“

“Shut up whore,” Raphael said, slapping Cas’s ass. “Your daddy is too soft on you, and he’s not here—doesn’t have the stomach to make sure it’s done right. As long as there’s no permanent damage, it doesn’t matter.”

“Please, Uriel? Inais, Gadreel, Jophriel?” None of the guards answered. In a small voice, Cas said, “If I promise to not fight, can you at least use a lubricant?”

“Now those are the manners we’re looking for,” Uriel chuckled.

“You’re lucky Gadreel has a soft spot for you, princess,” Raphael said, waiving the other guard over. “I’ll let him open you up for me, make you wet enough to take us all.”

Cas prayed to the gods that Raphael meant one at a time, and not all at once. He’d seen images of naked men in his anatomy books, and could not imagine even one penis fitting in him. Of course, since he was so disgusted and dismayed by his feminine body, he’d never penetrated himself, even with fingers.

Raphael hauled Cas up and threw him on the bed. The boy landed on his back, arms pinched tight behind him, his legs hanging off the end.

“Remember, princess, you promised you’d behave.”

What happened next, Cas hoped to never remember, but he knew would be present in his dreams forever. He numbed out, for hours, as the men used his body, only coming back when he heard the last man retie his breeches.

“We’re finished here,” Raphael called through the door. Someone on the other side—could it be Cas’s father?—unlocked the door to let the guards out. It was relocked, leaving Cas alone, naked, crying, and covered in semen.

Cas knew the guards had pulled out to finish on his stomach only because his father had ordered them not to get him pregnant. That, given free reign, the men would have filled him with their seed. Of course, the men who’d penetrated his ass and throat hadn’t pulled out, and he couldn’t get the taste of their salty spend from his mouth. Cas also knew—his older cousin Gabe had been very explicit when detailing his own sexual exploits—that pregnancy could still occur when pulling out. Not to mention disease—Cas had no idea whether these men were disease-free. Did his father even care?

Unable to muster the strength to stand and go to his chamberpot, Cas urinated on himself, sobbing silently. He wrapped the blanket around his shaking body and prayed for sleep.

* * *

Cas hadn’t spoken to anyone in two weeks, not since the rape. He’d avoided his father, and avoided his own chambers as much as possible. But he could not avoid his duties any more.

The king summoned Cas to appear in his study in two hours, ordering the boy to be dressed in full court regalia. Cas’s handmaiden enlisted two of the scullery maids to assist in getting Cas ready. Cas let them dress him, numb to everything.

First were his underpinnings—linen undershorts, silk stockings and garters, under-breeches, white shift. A pale blue silk corset that took all three women to tie shut. It squished and lifted his small tits, creating an unnatural amount of cleavage, narrowed his waist to a waifish proportion, and emphasized his hips.

From an armoire came a dark blue gown—one of his father’s favorites; he’d said it brought out Cas’s eyes. The silk was embroidered with silver stars. When he was forced to wear the dress, Cas liked to concentrate on the stars on the skirts, trying to point out or make up constellations. It helped distract him from the heart-wrenching shame he felt every time he was forced to wear such formal gowns.

As the scullery maids laced the back of his dress, Cas’s handmaiden piled his long, black hair atop his head. She pinned the curls artfully, using clips studded with pearls.

Pearls. Symbols of purity and virginity.

Cas saw them and felt cold inside. He had no more purity or virginity. His father had forced that away from him, sullied him. Reminded him that he was a princess, an object to be used by the kingdom, a glorified sex toy and broodmare for the man his father picked.

Apparently whatever would be happening soon in the king’s study would require that Cas pretend to be chaste and still virtuous. As far as everyone in the palace—other than him, his father, and his father’s five most trusted guards—knew, it was true. The princess was a paragon of virtue, unsullied by man, ‘her’ virginity a prize to be won, a favor to be gifted.

The handmaiden pinched his cheeks and lips to pink them up and applied kohl around Cas’s blue eyes. Cas wanted to cry, or throw up, or scream. But nothing was coming out. He was numb.

One of the maids slipped shoes on his stockinged feet and opened his chamber doors to let the guards in. Flanking Cas, the large men walked him towards his father’s study.

The door to the study was open. The king reclined on a low sofa, with another man seated in a plush armchair.

“Cassandra, princess, come in. Meet my friend, Duke Zachariah of Adler.”

The duke, a portly, balding man of Cas’s father’s age, stood and faced Cas. Cas sunk into a deep curtsy, face stony, and offered his hand to the man.

“Duke Adler, welcome,” Cas said demurely as the man kissed his knuckles.

“Princess Cassandra Novak of Empyrea, the pleasure is all mine. And please, princess, it’s Zachariah. A wife should call her husband by his more intimate name.”

Wife? Husband? Cas looked at her father in poorly disguised panic.

“Daddy?”

“My darling daughter, Cassandra,” the king said, “Your fifteenth year begins in one week. It is time you were wed, and produce an heir for the kingdom. Duke Adler is a well-respected land owner to the south, his duchy prosperous, and his previous wife has passed before bearing a child.”

Cas was too shocked to respond. He had not even realized the duke was still holding his hand until the man tugged, causing Cas to loose his balance. The duke jerked Cas forward and down into the chair with him, so that the boy was perched sideways on the man’s lap.

“Your majesty, you were saying something about the princess’s ability to bear offspring?” the duke said, as if Cas weren’t there.

“She began her monthly bleeding six months ago. Her mother the queen, may the gods bless her, had no difficulty conceiving or birthing the girl. Had she not been taken by fever when Cassandra was still an infant, it’s likely she would have produced many more strong children.”

“And the princess is chaste?”

“She has never even approached a man with sexual appetite,” the king said. Cas reasoned that was technically accurate, he’d never intended to have intercourse.

At the mention of sex, Cas felt the Duke becoming stiff under him. The older man’s erection was poking up into Cas’s ass, as the boy was still seated in his lap. The man’s hands were on Cas’s waist, and the duke subtly ground the boy down to get more friction.

Cas wanted to die.

“Daddy,” he said simply. “When?”

“On the eve of your fifteenth birthday.”

Cas nodded and stood. “I will be ready. With you leave,” he said, curtsying deeply to each man. “I have much to prepare for before we are wed.”

“Of course, Cassandra,” the duke said, raising Cas’s hands to his lips once more. “I look forward to seeing you and consummating this union one week from today.”

The boy drew his hand back as soon as it would not be considered rude and swished out of the room, his long skirts trailing behind.

* * *

“Cassie, I just heard,” Gabriel said as he strode into Cas’s room. Of course Gabe had heard, Cas’s cousin was a lynchpin in the palace gossip mill. News of Cas’s impending nuptials must have already reached the palace kitchens, where Gabe often hung out to sneak sweets from the cook.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cas said, sitting in the window seat and staring out into the courtyard.

“Aw, Cassie, you nervous? Gonna lose your virginity in a week, it’s a big deal.”

Cas laughed darkly. “Nothing left to lose.”

“You? Oh cousin, I would have never have guessed, you little minx. Do tell,” Gabe said, wiggling his eyebrows salaciously.

“Why don’t you ask my father,” Cas said dully. “It was at his command that his guards raped me. He found my journal, he knows everything, he decided I required ‘correction’. I don’t even have a single hole that remains virgin.”

Gabe floundered, his mouth agape. His uncle, the king, had ordered the gang rape of his only daughter?

“I am afraid I might kill myself,” Cas said without inflection.

“No, cousin, please,” Gabe pleaded. “It can’t be that bad—well, no, it definitely is that bad—but there must be something else you can do.”

The two cousins remained in silence, Cas in the window seat and Gabe in the middle of the room. Neither could meet the other’s eyes, Cas’s bright blues glued to the courtyard and Gabe’s golden hazel eyes on the floor.

“Leave,” Gabe said, suddenly.

“What?”

“Run away. Tomorrow night. Get out.”

“How? I have nothing.”

“Tell you what, kiddo. I’ll be out tomorrow night, from sundown until sunup. The circus is in town. Hoping to find some bendy—and willing—woman to spend the night with. I’ll make sure to dismiss my staff and stable hands for the night, give them some extra pocket money to enjoy the circus themselves. Anything in my house, and any horse in my stable, is yours.”

Cas was astounded by his cousin’s generosity. It was treason, pure and simple, that Gabriel was offering to commit. He turned to look at his older cousin, tears gathering but unshed in his blue eyes.

“You would do—Gabe, think about it. This would make you father’s heir. You would have to be king one day.”

“It’s never been my intent—trust me, Cassie, I’m not saying this just to usurp your right to the crown. It’ll mean giving up my philandering ways, require me to become more serious, and that is a great big bag of dicks. But it also means that you won’t kill yourself. And I can live with that, knowing you’re alive.”

“You are a good man, Gabe.”

“A you’re a good man too, princess,” Gabe said.

“Don’t call me that, Gabe. After all, tomorrow night, I am no longer a princess. Just a traveling young man, exploring the world.”

“I will tell everyone that you ran away to kill yourself, so they won’t look for you and won’t expect you to be alive. Don’t give me any details about where you’re going, so I don’t even have to lie. You’ll get out, clean.”

“Thank you, Gabe. I love you.”

“Ditto.”

* * *

The midnight bell rang through the palace.

Cas was nervous, terrified—and giddy. He was dressed all in black: black under-breeches and a black shift. The garments were meant to be worn under a gown but were not entirely inappropriate on their own, at least for a boy. His breasts were tightly bound in bandages. Black silk stockings were covered by black kid leather boots, with matching leather gloves on his hands. To complete the dark disguise, a black silk sash was wrapped around his head, leaving only his eyes visible.

He looked like an assassin from the far eastern lands, Cas mused. Not exactly a bad look, since he was intending to head to the east once he escaped from the palace. If he could reach the unfriendly eastern kingdom of Lawrence, it was unlikely that he would be identified as the escaped princess.

Gathering a rucksack, Cas shoved in a number of undershorts and bandages. He figured he would be able to steal clothing from Gabe, and he didn’t dare take enough provisions that the king would suspect he’d run off for real rather than just to kill himself.

Pausing at the window of his chamber, Cas took one last look around. His last time in this room, in the palace. He wasn’t upset about that.

Well, that was a lie. Of course he was upset. His entire life had been spent here and it was all he knew. And, by being forced to run away due to these circumstances, he also knew that his happiness had never mattered. That his father had never loved him in the way he deserved to be loved. That was upsetting, and Cas was rightfully upset.

Cas opened the window and stepped out onto the trellis. Closing the window behind him, he scaled down from his third-story chambers to the courtyard.

Sticking to shadows and dark alleyways, Cas made it out of the palace grounds and to the alley behind Gabriel’s townhouse. As a second-tier prince without lands of his own, and as an outrageous bachelor, Gabe had been granted use of a nice house with its own stables in the upper part of the town. Cas lifted himself to the stable roof and noted that the window of the guest room—the room Cas stayed in when he visited—was left open.

Thank you again, cousin, Cas thought, wiggling through the window.

He lit a small candle on the table near the window and looked around the room. Gabe had left supplies for him on the bed.

Several sets of clothes, all men’s, in a variety of richnesses—from princely to peasantry. A dagger, a bow, arrows, and Cas’s favorite rapier. A bag of herbs that Cas knew were to ward off menstruation and pregnancy. And a bag of coins—so many coins, and of large denominations. Gabe must have visited a banker for Cas.

There was no way Cas could ever repay his cousin.

Cas pushed the supplies into his now-full rucksack, extinguished the candle, and went back out the window. Dropping to the ground in front of the stables, he looked over the horses.

To his surprise, one was already saddled for him. The horse was unfortunately named as many racehorses were, in a way to reflect its lineage and owners—otherwise, no one in their right mind would never have named a horse Continental Mark V. Its sire, Continental Mark IV, had been one of Gabe’s favorite horses, and had won many races. Vee, as Cas liked to think of the younger horse, had always been too distractible to be a good racer, but had a sweet disposition.

Digging through the horse’s saddlebags, Cas found everything a traveler would need—skeins of water, dried jerkies and fruits, a bedroll, camping tools such as flint and rope, and a first aid kit.

Silently saying a prayer to the gods for protection of his cousin, that his treason never be found out, Cas mounted the horse and guided it out of the stables, down the alley, and through the eastern gate of the city. Under the bright light of the moon, he headed down the road towards the forest, hoping to put as much space as possible between him and the palace by the time they realized the princess was missing.


	2. To Pass a Test

It was raining, the sun was setting, and Cas was cold. 

He was four days into the forest—it was the day before his birthday, he thought impassively—and he was soaked. His waxed canvas cloak kept much of the water from his clothes, but his hair and feet were exposed.

At least his hair was short now. The first night, he’d used his dagger to cut his hair into a ragged but serviceable boy’s style.

“Come on Vee,” he said to the horse, “another hour and we can find a tree to stop under for the night.”

By Cas’s estimate, he’d crossed into the kingdom of Lawrence early that afternoon. Since he’d stopped taking main roads, favoring less-travelled paths through the forest, there hadn’t been any distinguishing border between the two antagonistic kingdoms, and they looked quite alike so far.

After an hour, the pair stopped beneath a large, twisted willow tree that provided ample protection from the drizzle.

He tied Vee to the tree and removed her saddle, drying her back and combing her flanks. Once she was more comfortable and grazing on the grass beneath the tree, Cas turned to take care of himself.

Gathering a few dry sticks from around the trunk of the tree, he made a small campfire and hung his cloak near it to dry. Huddling near the flames to try and stave off a chill, Cas snacked on salty jerky and dried cherries. 

The day before, he’d shot a rabbit with his bow, and had enjoyed fresh hare for dinner. It was the first time Cas had ever killed another creature, and he had mixed feelings on it. He’d always eaten meat, but had never given much thought to where it came from. He decided he was okay with hunting, so long as it was for food and not sport, as he knew many nobility liked to do. But he’d still offered up a prayer to the rabbit gods for its soul, if rabbits even had souls, or gods.

Cas spread out his bedroll next to the dying fire. He laid down and fell into an easy, exhausted sleep.

The next morning, he awoke to the first rays of daybreak, punctuated by the snores of… another man? On the other side of the fire was a bedroll similar to his, with a sleeping lump under it.

He grabbed the dagger from the sheath at his belt and snuck out of his bedroll, making his way to his unexpected company. Cas held the tip of the dagger to the other man’s throat, looking at the sandy-haired and freckled young man—maybe in his upper teens—in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked loudly enough to wake the man.

Opening his eyes—startling green, pupils enlarging as the man noticed the dagger at his throat—the man lifted his hands up placatingly.

“Not gonna harm you, boy. Was just passing through, wet, and saw your fire. It’s dangerous to be out here alone, especially if you’ve got flames advertising your position. You never know what kind of thieves and killers make their home in this forest.”

Cas tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Are you a thief or killer?”

“No, I’m Dean Campbell,” the man said easily.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

“I’ll tell you, but only if you tell me the same.”

“Deal.”

“I’m on my way to Lebanon, a small city a day’s ride from the capital city. There’s a… school there. Trains special warriors in the king’s service. Their open tryouts for the year are in a week. I’m gonna get a place, become a famous warrior for the kingdom, and give my mom and brother a better life.”

“That’s… a very noble goal, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “So, you?”

“Um, my name is Cas—tiel. Castiel,” he made up a name on the fly. “But you can call me Cas. I’m… I am not sure what I’m doing, to be honest. Running away, anywhere in Lawrence. Oh, and it is my birthday today,” Cas said, startled.

“Happy birthday then, Cas.” Dean smiled at the younger boy. “But you’re awfully young to be running away. What are you, eleven, twelve?”

“Fifteen today.”

“No, you look way too young. You’re so small, no beard coming in yet. There’s no need to lie.”

“I am not lying,” Cas said hotly. “I am fifteen, and I was arranged to be married today, and I ran away. If you don’t believe it, that is your problem.”

Realizing he was still holding the dagger to the man’s throat, Cas stood up and slipped it back in its sheath. He walked to his side of the fire and began packing up his bedroll. When he moved to saddle up Vee, he noticed a second horse next to her.

“That’s Impala,” Dean said, gesturing at the black horse. He was packing his own bedroll, not looking at Cas. Impala, who hadn’t been tied up, walked over to Dean and butted him in the chest. He huffed a small laugh and rubbed her between the ears.

Cas was silent, saddling Vee. He didn’t know what to make of this strange and earnest man.

“I am coming with you,” Cas blurted. “I mean, if you would let me, I would like to come with you to the school.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that’d be okay. I mean, it’s a fighting school, and you’re a pretty small guy—no offence meant—how do I know you can even fight?”

“I can fight.” Cas glared at Dean. “I am fast, lean, and can hold my own with a sword against top-trained warriors. How do I know you can fight?”

Dean laughed. “Guess I deserved that. I grew up in the woods, hunting. Had to fight off wolves, bears, and bandits. I’m no slouch when it comes to swords.” The man brushed his hand along the blunt sword which was in his scabbard.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A moment of silence passed. “So I can go with you?” Cas asked, less angry.

“Sure thing, Cas.”

The two of them saddled up their horses in companionable silence, Cas sharing some of his jerky with Dean and Dean sharing a dried fruit he called pineapple with Cas. The two of them set out eastward towards the rising sun, and towards Lebanon.

* * *

According to Dean, it would be one more day’s travel to Lebanon when they came upon a small village called Wichita. Cas suggested they stay the night in the village and offered to pay for a room in the inn, to Dean’s surprise. Dean hadn’t realized the boy had coin with him—Lawrence and Empyrea used the same currency, since they were technically allies.

The small inn had only one available room, but the pair was too tired to worry about sharing a bed.

At least, Dean was. Cas realized that, since their room did not have a separate bathing area, the tub was visible from the rest of the room. He needed a bath, badly, but he could not let Dean see him naked and realize that his body was female.

“Gods, I need a bath,” Dean said, smelling his armpits. “I’ll call down to the maid to fill the tub. Do you want first bath or second?”

“Dean, would you—would you be offended if I asked you to remain in the inn’s common room while I bathe?”

Dean raised his eyebrows at the boy. He didn’t know much about Cas—the boy had been cagey about his past when asked during their trip, but Dean knew that Cas had grown up incredibly sheltered, and probably of high or even noble birth.

“I can grab an ale while you bathe, sure,” Dean said easily. “Didn’t realize you were such a prude, Cas. I mean, we’ve been on the road together five days, and it’s not as if you have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Yeah, um, thanks Dean.”

As the maid came with buckets of steaming water to fill the tub, Dean made his way down to the inn’s attached tavern.

Cas took as quick a bath as he could. To be fair, he’d always rushed bathing, not wanting to see his naked body for any longer than necessary. He washed his hair with the hotel’s lemon shampoo, and scrubbed his body down with a flannel cloth. Getting out and quickly drying, he put on a clean undershorts, re-bandaged his breasts, and slipped on a heavy linen nightshirt.

A knock at the door let Cas know Dean had returned.

“You decent?”

“Yes, Dean. Come in.”

Dean walked in, smelling slightly like ale and smiling softly. “Hiya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“I’m gonna take a bath now.”

“Okay. I hope the water is not too dirty—”

“It’s fine, Cas, probably just smells like you,” the man said with a slight slur. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his breeches and slipped them and his undershorts off in a single movement. Cas blushed red and swiftly turned around as Dean took his leather jerkin and flannel shirt off.

From behind his back, Cas heard a small splash and a contented sigh as Dean eased himself into the water.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh. “You can turn back around, Cas.”

“Sorry,” Cas said, looking at Dean, face still red. “It is just, I—”

“Yeah, prude. Don’t worry about it, princess,” Dean said, teasingly.

“Do not ever call me that,” Cas growled, no humor in his face. “Don’t you ever call me that again.”

Dean started at Cas’s vehemence. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just teasing. Didn’t realize it’d piss you off so much. My brother Sammy hates it when I call him girly names too. I won’t do it again, promise.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence settled over the room as Dean began to shampoo his own hair, humming softly under his breath. It was a tune the man had hummed many times over the past few days, often without realizing.

“What is that song?” asked Cas.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, a faint blush rising over his freckles. “It’s a song my mom would sing to me, about someone named Jude. It was always only me, her, and Sammy—my father… wasn’t in the picture. He was a noble who’d knocked up mom when she was a groundskeeper for the king, who’d abandoned her when he learned about her pregnancy, and she didn’t like to talk about it. Sammy had a different father—also not in the picture, and according to mom a complete demon. So it was just the three of us, and she’d always sing this one song whenever either of us was sad.”

“Are you sad right now, Dean?”

“What? Oh, no, I’m not sad. I hum it when I’m content, because it reminds me of home. I mean, yeah, I’m a bit sad, because I’m apart from my family. Aren’t you?”

“No. It was only me and my father, and there is no love lost.”

“I guess I can’t understand. To me—and mom, and Sammy—family is everything. It’s all I’ve ever had, really. I can’t imagine not having a family that loved me.” Dean rinsed the shampoo from his hair and scrubbed his armpits and crotch.

“I am glad for you,” Cas said.

Dean rose from the water to dry off, but faced away from Cas as he grabbed the towel. The younger boy didn’t look away this time, examining Dean’s muscular back, dimples above his ass, and freckles brushed across his upper thighs. Dean shook his ass at Cas without turning around, saying, “Like what you see?”

“I—” Cas squeaked. “I was not—I mean, I do not—”

A chuckle came from Dean as the man stepped out of the tub and tied the towel around his waist. “No worries, Cas. I know I look good from behind.”

Turning around, Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, who had turned red again.

“I am sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to look. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “It’s okay. I didn’t realize you were into guys. But, honestly, I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything between us. I mean, I’m into pretty much anything and everything, so it’s not as if I’ll think any less of you for it.”

That was a first. Cas had been so scared of anyone learning his secrets when he was at home—that he was male, that he was gay—and had seen firsthand how he would be treated when others found out. His father had shown him how unacceptable his preferences were.

Cas was relieved, and felt like crying. “Thank you, Dean. No one has ever—I mean, last time someone found out—it was not good.” He’d told Dean that he was running away from an arranged marriage, but hadn’t said anything about his female status, or the rape. He didn’t know if Dean would be quite so accommodating if he knew the full truth.

“You’ve got nothing to fear from me,” Dean said, pulling on a night shirt and climbing into bed. “Now come to sleep, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Blowing out the remaining candle on the nightstand, Cas climbed into the other side of the bed, facing away from Dean. He could feel Dean’s eyes on his back.

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean said.

“Goodnight.”

* * *

The inn laundress, bless her heart, had washed Cas and Dean’s clothes while they slept. Cas dressed quickly while Dean was in the inn’s common room getting breakfast and left a few coins on their room’s table for the maid. He was packing up his rucksack when Dean returned.

“And for you, my dearest Cas, I bring pastries,” Dean said with a flourish, laying the sweet roll in front of the boy.

“Thank gods, I’m starving,” Cas said, abandoning his packing to shove the pastry in his mouth.

“Easy there, don’t want to be choking before we even get to Lebanon,” Dean joked, beginning his own packing. “Hey Cas, what’s this?” In Dean’s pile of laundry was a long length of bandages.

Cas looked over and blanched. “That’s mine,” he hissed, grabbing the linen out of Dean’s hands and shoving it in his own bag.

“What’s it—” At the look on Cas’s face, the man decided to not ask questions. Maybe Cas had been injured and was too proud to tell Dean. He hoped it was nothing serious. “Never mind.”

The atmosphere between the two was slightly awkward as they headed downstairs with their bags. Saddling Vee and Impala, they set out on the road again.

“So, tryouts tomorrow…” Dean began. “I’m thinking we can get a room in Lebanon for the night so we’re well-rested for tomorrow. I can pay my half—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cas snapped. “I have more coin than I need, and it i the least I can do, given that you are allowing me to accompany you.”

“Allowing? Cas, hate to break it to you, but you’re actually pretty good company most of the time. Not when you’re in a bad mood like this, though.”

“I am sorry,” Cas said. “I… have a lot on my mind.”

“No problem.”

“No, really, I’m—”

“I said no problem, Cas.”

A silence, less awkward than before, passed between the two.

“What are the tryouts like?” Cas asked.

“They’re a little bit different every year, I’ve heard, but they generally test the same things. Physically, there’s fighting skills—swords, daggers, hand-to-hand—endurance, speed, things like that. There’s also thinking stuff, like logic, logistics, strategy. And some other things are graded, I think, like looks, manners, speech patterns. Not sure why exactly, but they probably want men who’re able to pass as nobles.”

“Huh.”

“I doubt you’d have a problem with that last bit, and you’re probably good at the thinking part. You’re much smarter than me.”

“Thank you?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to say ‘oh no, Dean, I think you’re plenty smart,’” Dean teased.

“I apologize. I do think you’re smart, I just did not realize you required the validation,” Cas teased back.

Dean chuckled softly. “It’s just the fighting part I don’t know where you stand. You say you’ve trained, but I guess I won’t know until you’re in the ring.”

“I hope I will do you proud.”

The two of them continued bantering, talking, and in companionable silence until they reached the fortified gates of Lebanon. The city was unusually well-protected for such a small and remote place, and Cas looked at Dean with a questioning glance.

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a closely kept secret, but Lebanon is where King Winchester comes for certain strategy meetings.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I’ve heard that he sometimes attends the tryouts. After all, they’re to determine his elite warrior trainees. It makes sense that he’d show interest.”

Cas shuddered. He wasn’t looking forward to being in the presence of the king of Lawrence. He’d dealt enough with kings to last a lifetime.

The two found a small inn called The Roadhouse, and its proprietor, a kind but harsh-looking woman called Ellen, fussed over the two boys. They again shared a room, and a bed. Less for monetary reasons and more because, after so many days together on the road, it felt odd sleeping apart. Once more, Cas banished Dean from the room while he bathed, but stayed while Dean took his own bath.

As they fell asleep, they traded theories on what the tests would be the next morning, and each of them went to bed both nervous and excited.

* * *

Cas woke before daybreak, nerves humming. He wasn’t sure why he was so excited, given that he hadn’t heard of the school until several days ago. But this was his first chance to try something for himself, something not prescribed by his noble birth.

He laid his clothes out, trying to decide what would appear most appropriate. Something he could fight in, but that still suggested manners and intelligence. He chose navy breeches and a matching sleeved doublet, over a white shift with a blue silk scarf tied at the neck. When they left, he planned on also wearing a khaki-colored wool cape.

Facing away from the bed, he stripped his nightshirt and began dressing himself.

Unbeknownst to him, Dean had woken and was sleepily peering in Cas’s direction. Seeing the bandages wrapped around his friend’s torso, Dean worried. Cas must be more injured that he’d thought. Dean hoped that the injury would not prevent the younger boy from performing well at the tryouts. Knowing that Cas likely had hidden the injury from Dean on purpose, the man closed his eyes and pretended to still be sleeping until he heard Cas begin to lace up his boots.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Dean sat up.

“Morning,” he groused.

“Morning,” Cas parroted back. “Get ready, we should present at the school gates within a few hours. And we need to eat something beforehand.”

“Alright, mother,” Dean said sarcastically.

“I am not your—oh. I’m heading downstairs, meet me in the common room in twenty minutes.” Cas swept out of the room to grab breakfast.

Dean came down thirty minutes later, having shaved and combed his short hair. Cas looked on in envy; his roughly cut hair had been too difficult to tame. Dean was dressed in similarly practical-but-nice-looking clothing; blue breeches, plaid flannel shirt, and a leather jerkin.

The two of them sat beside each other on the same side of a booth, rubbing shoulders as they shoveled eggs, sausages, and coffee in their mouths. Ellen’s daughter Joanna Beth came by to refill their coffee, and Dean smiled at her. Cas did not.

Once the barmaid had left, Dean elbowed Cas in the ribs. “She’s hot,” he said. “Think I’ve got a shot?”

“I didn’t notice,” Cas scowled. “She’s not really my type, what with the breasts and lack of cock. You’d probably have a shot, though. You’re an incredibly attractive man.”

Dean blushed, pink under his freckles. “Maybe later,” he said, with no intention on actually making a play for the girl. Despite his bravado, he’d spent most of his life caring for his family and had no real romantic experience.

After eating, they left their bags with Ellen, their horses in the stable. She said she’d watch over them, so long as they paid for her trouble. Her stablehand Ash had taken good care of Vee and Impala overnight, so Dean and Cas felt comfortable leaving their horses with him.

They strapped their swords to their scabbards and, on foot, walked to the walled school compound, ready for the day.

* * *

It was the one day a year the gates to the high-walled school, known only as the Bunker, were open to the public. People were not allowed through the gates, however, unless they were candidates for the tryouts. The school allowed any male between the ages of 15 and 20 to try for a spot at the school, and of the 50 potential warriors lined up outside, only two would be given admission.

Cas knew Dean would be given one of those spots—the man was strong, smart, and incredible. Cas wasn’t as sure about his own chances, however. He was shorter than most of the other contenders, and more lean. But he hoped what he lacked in raw strength would be tempered by his speed and athleticism. He would hate to be separated from Dean, as the man was his first real friend other than his cousin Gabriel.

Through the gate was the first courtyard, where the contenders gathered. Dean and Cas gave their names to a harried-looking man named Chuck who was collecting information on all the boys.

Then, they leaned against a wall to appraise their competition.

“Nervous?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas lied.

“Liar. I’m nervous. I’ve been waiting for this chance for several years, and now that it’s here, I’m… less confident than I expected.”

“You will do great, Dean. You are incredible,” Cas said earnestly.

The pair examined the other boys. Most had enormous muscles, larger than either Cas or Dean’s. Cas hoped that their other skills—intelligence and manners—would be enough to make up the difference. Of course, Cas mused, maybe the physical tests weren’t purely about raw strength.

One by one, the secretary called the boys through in the order they’d been registered. Cas and Dean had showed up after most of the contenders had already appeared, so they were towards the end of the list. They had to watch as boy after boy entered the second courtyard, gates closing behind each contestant to prevent them from watching the trial.

Most of the contenders walked back out through the gates within minutes, some bruised or bloody, some close to crying. A few actually crying. Every tenth contender or so stayed behind, likely ushered off into some third courtyard or even inside the school for additional testing.

Finally, it was Dean’s turn.

“Wish me luck,” Dean said, grabbing Cas’s hands.

“May the gods watch over you,” Cas said, raising Dean’s hands to his lips, his mouth ghosting over the man’s knuckles. Dean blushed, and headed towards the gate where the secretary was waiting. He slipped through.

Dean hadn’t returned by the time Cas was called. Cas hoped this meant that the older boy had made it to the next round of tests.

Walking up to the secretary, Cas bowed and entered the second courtyard.

A table was set up to his right, facing the courtyard. Seated at it was an older man, gray haired and milky eyed, dressed in a black silk robe. In front of him was a full eastern tea service, and he was flanked by two impressive-looking men in white robes.

“Name?” the man asked.

“Castiel.”

“Age?”

“Fifteen.”

The master motioned to one of the men behind him. “Describe the boy.”

“Small for his age, thin. Black hair, olive skin, blue eyes. Dressed well but practical. Sharp jawline, hairless, pretty mouth but chapped lips. Overall, very attractive.”

“Thank you, Victor. Well, Castiel, show us what you can do.”

“Sir,” Cas said, bowing. He had no idea what sort of demonstration the master was asking for, so he decided to go with his gut.

Removing his belt and scabbard, he laid the weapon on the ground along with his cloak. He removed his boots and stockings, and loosed the scarf around his neck. The men behind the master looked on, puzzled and curious. Humming beneath his breath—Cas noticed it was Dean’s song about Jude—he began.

He leaned forward, placing his palms on the ground. He brought one leg straight into the air, followed slowly by the other, until he was supporting himself entirely on his hands. Raising one hand and grabbing his right foot, he brought himself down in a single-handed pushup. Ducking and rolling forward, he began moving in earnest.

The next few minutes were a whirl of acrobatics, flips, kicks, and fighting poses. Against an imaginary opponent, Cas danced around the courtyard, moving to the beat of the song he was humming, never losing a step.

As he flipped over the scabbard, Cas withdrew his rapier and continued his dance, slashing in the air along with his jumps, rolls, and kicks. The sword whipped through the air audibly as Cas leapt around the courtyard. Finally, with the rapier held between his teeth, Cas returned to his original pose, standing on his hands and facing the table. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

The older man looked at the boy appraisingly, his eyes apparently seeing more than Cas had initially thought. He pointed towards the next gate, indicating to Cas that he had passed the first test. Cas returned to his feet and bowed deeply at the old man, and less deeply at the two men with him. Re-buckling his scabbard and sliding the rapier into it, he put his cloak back on and headed to the next courtyard.

* * *

“Cas,” Dean exclaimed, rushing forward to hug the boy, swinging him around in the air. “You made it.”

“Put me down, Dean,” Cas said with a glare. Noticing a cut on Dean’s leg and a bruise arising around the man’s eye, Cas asked, “What happened to you?”

“Those white-robed guys put up a heck of a fight,” Dean said. “Did they go softer on you?”

“I… didn’t fight them?” Cas said, puzzled.

“What, then how—”

They were interrupted by a bell, bringing their attention to another table. Two men were seated, with four white-robed men behind them. At the table were the older blind man from the previous test and a regal middle-aged man, wearing rich-looking velvet robes.

Cas turned to them and bowed, and his movement was quickly copied by Dean and the other four boys in the courtyard.

The secretary had followed them in, and again summoned each boy towards the table. The first boy, a broad-shouldered black man, stood in front of the table as he talked quietly with the two men seated there. After ten minutes of discussion, the man stalked towards the gate and left, without even so much as bowing at the master and his noble guest.

The second and third boys were the same, though at least they bothered to bow on their way out.

Next was Dean. Cas was close enough to hear some of what passed between him and the man he now understood was the master of the school.

“Name?”

“Dean Campbell,” Dean said, bowing.

Immediately, the nobleman whispered into the master’s ear, who then looked appraisingly at the man and then at Dean. The master pointed at the main building, and Dean bowed to both men, walking into the school.

The remaining other boy went to the table and was sent out in less than a minute, tears forming in his eyes.

Finally, Cas was summoned to the table.

“Name?” the master asked.

“Castiel.” He bowed deeply to both men.

“Do you recognize this man beside me?”

“I do not.”

“Good. Tell me what you can about him.”

Cas looked the man over. His skin was ruddy and tan, his hands calloused. This was a man who worked for a living. But his posture was impeccable, as were his clothes. Rings on his fingers indicated nobility rather than upper-class merchant. He was handsome, close-cropped black beard beginning to gray. Cas said as much to the master.

“And what else? What weaknesses can you see?”

“He is tired. He drinks too much, likely womanizes. He is sad and lonely.”

The nobleman, to Cas’s surprise, burst out laughing. “Any other king would have your head for treason, boy,” the man said.

King? Oh gods, this must be King John Winchester of Lawrence. How badly had Cas just screwed up?

“Your majesty,” Cas said, genuflecting in a way reserved for royalty. “My apologies for not recognizing you.”

“You truly didn’t recognize me? Where do you hail from?”

Still prostrate on the floor, Cas said, “Across the border in Empyrea, your majesty. I have left the empire due to certain… disagreements with the way it is run, and seek refuge in Lawrence.”

“Stand, boy,” the king said. Looking Cas over, he nodded to the master. “Him.”

The master nodded and pointed Cas to the school. Cas bowed deeply to both men, and walked inside to rejoin Dean.

* * *

Dean and Cas stood in the Bunker’s main hall and smiling at each other. They’d made it, against all odds. They both knew very little about the other’s trials, but they were proud of their own performance.

The master walked in and shut the door behind him. The king and the white-robed men were not with him.

Both boys bowed deeply to the master.

“I am Master Robert Singer,” the older man said.

“Can we call you Bobby?” Dean asked.

“Ehh, Master Bobby is close enough, I guess. You’ve made it through the trials, and are now the newest members of the Bunker.”

The boys stood silent, unsure whether they were allowed to speak.

“Your next years will be tough,” Bobby continued. “You will train, not just physically, but mentally. The Bunker is not only a school for warriors, though that is what we tell the public. Here, we train the elite, the ghosts, the Hunters. Castiel, Dean Campbell. You will become assassins for the kingdom.”

Cas blinked. This is not what he had been expecting. He’d struggled to kill a rabbit for his dinner on the ride here; could he really take the life of another human being? Cas snuck a look at Dean, whose face wasn’t showing any emotions. Had Dean known about this?

“Is that going to be a problem?” Bobby asked.

“No, Master Bobby,” Dean said immediately.

After a pause to think, Cas decided. “No, Master Bobby.”

“Good. I would like to see you spar before we continue.”

“Against each other?” Cas asked.

“Yes.”

Dean looked at Cas. “Weapons or bare hands?”

“Bare hands, please,” Cas responded.

The two boys stepped to the middle of the hall, which was barren of furniture or decorations. Cas again removed his cloak, shoes, and stockings. Dean removed his jerkin and plaid shirt. Facing each other, they bowed and adopted fighting stances.

Cas was balanced on one foot, his other leg high and to the side. His hands were laced together and placed over his heart. Flexing his foot, he waited. Dean’s stance was much lower to the ground, his bulky weight balanced equally between his feet, knees bent. His left side was facing Cas, his hands brought into fists in front of his chest.

With a nod, Cas ran towards Dean. As the older boy moved to punch him, Cas leapt into the air, flipping, as he sailed over his friend. Now behind Dean, Cas swept his leg, knocking Dean to the ground. Dean rolled and rose, facing Cas with respect.

“You’re quick,” Dean said, smiling. Cas just tilted his head, accepting the complement.

Once more, Cas ran towards his friend, but Dean was expecting the boy’s speed this time. He reached out an arm to stop the younger boy, and Cas’s chest was halted by Dean’s seemingly immovable forearm. Dean wrapped the arm around Cas and threw him to the ground.

“And you are strong,” Cas said back to Dean.

For minutes—or hours, it was hard to tell—Cas and Dean wove together, trading blows, kicks, and sweeps. Despite the differences in their skills, they were evenly matched. What Dean lacked in speed he made up for in raw strength, and what Cas lacked in muscle he made up in acrobatics.

Both boys were panting when they heard a single clap from Bobby. In their enjoyment of the sparring, they’d forgotten where they were. They both bowed to the master.

“Very good,” Bobby said. “Promising. Complementary.” He began to walk to a door on the left wall. “Follow me, boys.”

Through the door was a long hallway, with sliding paper doors set into both sides. At the third door on the right, Bobby waved his hand.

“This will be your room. Fetch your things from the inn and unpack here. Your horses may go in the stables behind the Bunker. The dinner bell rings at seven.”

Cas and Dean bowed to Master Bobby as he walked away. Dean, smiling at his friend, slid open the door to see their room.

It… wasn’t very exciting. A low dresser, a low table, two sleeping pallets on the floor. They shrugged at each other. It was still more than Dean was accustomed to, and Cas felt as if he’d be able to deal with it. After all, he’d been sleeping outdoors more nights than not over the past week. He might have been used to plush, royal chambers, but he hoped he wasn’t as spoiled as most nobility.

Silent communication poured between the boys, and they stepped out to head back to the inn and gather their meagre belongings. At the dinner bell, they were both already soundly asleep, still fully clothed. Bobby, looking in on them, left a small tray with snacks on their table.

* * *

Every day at the Bunker began the same. An hour before daybreak, the morning bell sounded through the dormitory wing. Dean and Cas dressed in white robes with matching white trousers underneath and met the other students in the main hall for breakfast. There were six other young men at the Bunker, reflecting the past three years’ worth of admitted students. On a rotation, each year was assigned to cook breakfast, lunch, supper, or tea.

After breakfast the first-year students held an hour silent meditation, which was followed once a week by an hour of torture endurance practice. This often included waterboarding, rice kneeling, and bamboo under the nails. Cas took the torture silent and stoic, while Dean often growled and swore at the trainers. But neither boy broke.

Next came classes. First years learned the history of the Hunters, the warring of the clans, and the rebellion that led the Hunter school to settle in the Kingdom of Lawrence. They learned the relationship Hunters held with the king, how they helped in political assassinations and other tasks that couldn’t legally be undertaken by the kingdom.

They also learned the sciences, math, first aid, and physics. They learned what plants were edible, how to staunch bleeding and sew up wounds, and how to calculate distances based on the sun’s position.

After a light lunch came physical training. Together with the other students, Dean and Cas ran a five-mile loop in the woods behind the Bunker as a warm up, and then they separated by year.

First years concentrated on basic fighting arts, both with weapons and without. Broadswords, rapiers, daggers, and maces were practiced with, as were longbows and crossbows. Bare fighting styles were also practiced, including boxing, kicking, wrestling, and—to Cas’s delight—dance-fighting. Both Cas and Dean had tried to see what the more advanced students were working on, but their trainer had knocked them upside the head and told them to concentrate on their own work instead.

At night, Dean and Cas traded theories on what the older students learned. Cas thought it was just advanced weapons and fighting, but maybe with some more body movements thrown in. Dean jokingly thought it was more dancing and seduction work.

Regardless of what they were learning, all the student gathered together for dinner, undertook another hour of meditation and a practice Bobby called ‘yoga,’ and had a brief tea in their rooms before retiring to bed.

Following this routine, daily for months, Dean and Cas developed muscles, skills, intelligence, manners, and discipline that they hadn’t known they were lacking.

* * *

After retiring to bed, Dean and Cas talked. Every night, about things important—politics, the relationship between Empyrea and Lawrence, the will of the gods—and things unimportant—favorite colors, funny childhood stories.

Each night they whispered, and slowly their pallets came closer together, until the boys were sleeping side-by-side. It was not uncommon for one to wake up curled into the other. And neither boy discussed it, or what it meant.

One night in late summer, a thunderstorm rolled through, keeping them awake. They laid on their pallets facing one another.

“Dean,” Cas whispered.

“Yeah Cas?”

“You are my best friend. You know, I never really had a friend before you, other than my cousin. And he does not really count. So I guess you’re my first friend.”

“You’re my first friend too. Other than Sammy, of course.”

Cas considered his next words carefully. He didn’t want to spook Dean, but he needed to know. He grabbed Dean’s hands and looked the man in the eyes.

“Is it… normal for friends to sleep together as we do?”

Dean swallowed hard. “No.”

“Is it normal to hold hands, to exchange hugs, to—”

“No Cas, it’s not.”

“Then,” Cas paused. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes, Cas.” Dean licked his lips, staring at the boy’s mouth.

Cas inched forward and placed a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips before drawing back. “Was that—was that okay?”

Dean let go of Cas’s hands and pulled the other boy’s face in towards his, capturing Cas’s chapped lips with his own plump ones. Slowly, Cas opened his mouth to allow the man’s tongue in to explore. Brushing against Cas’s own tongue, against the roof of Cas’s mouth, and behind Cas’s teeth. Dean tasted like mint and green tea, Cas like oolong and cinnamon.

They pulled back, panting.

“You’ve done that before?” Cas asked.

“A few times. Never felt like that, though. You—you’re something special, Cas.”

Even though the room was dark, Cas ducked his head to try and hide his rising blush from Dean. “I have been wanting to do that for a while.”

“I’ve been wanting you to do that for a while,” Dean said. “I felt—I don’t know, like you needed to do it first? I mean, I’m older, I’m 17 and you’re only 15, and I’m bigger, even if you’re just as strong as me, I still didn’t want to feel like I was taking advantage or anything of you—”

Cas shut Dean up with another kiss. Moving his hands down Dean’s side, he hovered at the hem of the man’s nightshirt. Asking with his eyes whether it was okay to remove the shirt, Dean nodded, and helped Cas lift the fabric up. Dean was on his side, facing Cas, wearing only his undershorts.

Dean shut his eyes as Cas ran his hands up and down Dean’s chest. The man’s smooth, supple skin stretched across hard muscles, flexing as Dean’s breath hitched.

With a hum, Cas leaned forward to lick Dean’s chest, then latched his mouth over one of Dean’s nipples and sucked.

“Gods, Cas—” Dean pulled Cas back up and brought him into a deep kiss, then reached for the hem of Cas’s nightshirt.

Cas abruptly shoved Dean back. “No—you can’t—I can’t—”

“Is it because of your injury?”

“What?” Cas gasped.

“The bandages. I’ve seen them before, I just wasn’t sure if I could ask about them. Is that—”

“I.. am not ready to tell you about that. I don’t—I do not want it to change how you look at me.”

“Cas, there’s literally nothing in the world that could prevent me from lo—from liking you. You’re an amazing friend.”

“You say that now.”

“I say that always. Now come back and cuddle with me, you idiot.”

Cas curled against Dean, as the older man placed kisses on his neck. Someday, Cas would feel brave enough to tell Dean about his body. But hopefully not until after Cas had fixed it. He’d found a doctor in Lebanon who would be able to do the surgery. With that, doing well at the Bunker, and a burgeoning relationship with Dean, Cas felt that the pieces of his life were finally coming together.


	3. To Fix a Mistake

For the fall solstice, Dean and Cas were granted three days off. Cas had been acting cagey for the past week, and had told Dean that he wouldn’t be around during those three days, that there was something he needed to take care of.

Dean was hurt, but he understood, in a way. The two of them had been inseparable, by the other’s side nearly 24 hours a day for the past three months. They separated only for using the privy and for bathing—which Cas still insisted on doing alone. Besides, Dean had been interested in exploring Lebanon. He’d only been here once before, as a small child, and he hadn’t been able to see much of the city this time.

Wearing their white robes, the boys exited through the gate into the city. Saying goodbyes, they headed in different direction.

After making sure he hadn’t been followed, Cas ducked into an alleyway, finding the unmarked door he was looking for. He knocked three times, paused, and knocked twice more. The door slowly swung open.

“Doctor Alastair,” Cas said, bowing. “I need your help.”

“What is it, boy?”

“I need you to perform surgery on me. Today, if possible.”

The greasy man looked Cas over. “You don’t look ill. But I’ll perform whatever surgery you want, so long as you’ve got the coin.”

“I can pay. I want—no, I need you to make me a man.”

Alastair widened his eyes, reappraising the boy. “Ah, a girl then.”

“No. Just… my body is wrong.”

“I see. How about today we take care of your breasts, and save giving you a cock for another day? It’ll take more preparation.”

Cas wasn’t sure when he’d get another weekend off—likely not until the winter solstice—but he would have to wait. He nodded.

“Pay upfront, 500 gold,” Alastair leered. Cas could afford it, easily, and placed the coins into the doctor’s outstretched hand. The doctor pocketed away the coins and motioned for Cas to follow him.

In a poorly lit room, the doctor motioned for Cas to sit on the table. Cas was nervous—perhaps more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He’d heard rumors about Doctor Alastair from one of the older students at the Bunker, rumors that said the doctor would perform any surgery, so long as the coin was good enough.

“Take your robes off.”

Cas slipped the white robe over his head, and slowly unrolled the bandages that had bound his breasts. His tits were exposed to the room, and Cas started to panic. The last time another person had seen him topless was when he was being raped.

“Lay down, and drink this,” Alastair said, handing Cas a cup.

“What is it?”

“Milk of poppy, my own mixture. Will keep you from moving during the surgery and make it so you feel less pain.”

Cas drank the liquid, gagging on the stale taste. But he soon felt himself grow drowsy, and lost consciousness.

When Cas came to, he couldn’t tell if it had been minutes, hours, or days. Alastair was waiving smelling salts under the boy’s nose, and Cas sneezed. He was covered with a sheet and, as he looked down over his body, he saw that the fabric was no longer tented where his breasts would have been.

“It’s done?”

“Yes. You’ve been unconscious for two days. Now get out.”

Moving the sheet so that he could stand up, Cas caught a glimpse of his chest for the first time. It was scarred horribly, cuts placed randomly and roughly sutured up.

“How—how could you—butcher—” Cas stammered.

“Hey now, no need to be rude. You get what you paid for, with no questions asked. You want fancy surgery, you go to the court physician. Of course, then you’d have to tell them you’re really a bitch, see how well that goes down with your fancy school.”

Cas blanched. The Bunker would kick him out if they knew his secret. By the gods, Dean would hate him if he knew his secret.

“Now, say ‘thank you, Doctor Alastair,’” the doctor prompted coldly.

“Thank you, Doctor Alastair,” Cas parroted back, dismayed at his butchered chest, as he slipped his white robe back on. There was no way he would be letting this man do his bottom surgery. He bowed, and went out into the alley. He heaved into the gutter, liquid bile coming out, and stood there for several minutes.

Heading towards the Bunker, distracted and dismayed by the surgery, he didn’t notice Dean. Dean had seen him leaving the doctor, spitting up in the gutter, walking gingerly. And Dean wanted to know what had happened, and where Cas had disappeared to for the past two days.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Dean woke up to Cas tossing and turning. Sweat was pouring from his body, soaking his nightshirt and bedding. Placing the back of a hand to Cas’s forehead, Dean could tell that the boy was burning up.

Dean swore and scrambled to light a lantern. Holding it over Cas, he noticed wet spots on the front of his nightshirt. Lifting the hem, and praying to the gods that Cas would forgive him, he pulled back the boy’s shirt.

His chest was covered with cuts, some old, some fresh, some sutured. What in the gods’ names was going on? Dean identified the source of the wet spots, and the likely cause of Cas’s fever: some of the cuts had become infected.

Standing, Dean began to pace around the room. Cas needed medical attention, that much was clear. But Cas had been hiding his injury from everyone—not just Dean—and Dean didn’t want to be the one to divulge Cas’s secret.

He had to help his friend. But how?

Slipping out to go to Master Bobby’s room, Dean hatched a plan. He would take the role of nursemaid to Cas—a good way to practice his first aid training, he would claim—while protecting Cas’s secret. Bobby even called Dean’s commitment to his friend ‘commendable’ and gave them both the week off, plus access to the Bunker’s infirmary supplies.

Dean gathered as much as he could—bandages, rubbing alcohols, salves, poultices, herbs, linens, and water—before returning to their room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

He stared at Cas’s chest, deciding where to start. Grabbing the alcohol and a linen cloth, he cleaned the cuts.

With a jolt, Cas sat up. The sting of the alcohol in open wounds had shocked him awake.

“Dean—no, what—you cannot—” Cas babbled, crying and feverish. “Do not look at—”

“Hush, Cas,” Dean said gently. “Lie back down and let me take care of you.”

“Don’t hate me,” Cas mumbled, leaning back.

“I could never hate you,” Dean said, but Cas had already passed out again. “I love you, you idiot.”

After Dean had wiped down the cuts, he applied a poultice of witch hazel, aloe, and local fungi across Cas’s chest. Soaking another linen in cool water, he placed it across Cas’s head to try and lower the boy’s fever.

Over the next few hours, Dean reapplied poultices to Cas’s chest and re-wet the cloth on his forehead. The room was so silent that Dean found himself talking to Cas, even though he knew the other boy was asleep.

“...and Sammy, man, one day he’s going to be a doctor or lawyer or something. The kid’s brilliant. I don’t know how he would up in a fatherless family of woodsmen, but that kid’s going places.

“Still, you know, I wish I knew my father. I mean, my mom and Sammy are great, don’t get me wrong. But it was always weird growing up the village bastard. I don’t know too much from my mom, but it was back when she lived on the palace grounds. She was a trapper and groundskeeper for King Winchester’s court, and she’d arrange some of their sporting hunts—you know, the ones where they pretend to hunt pheasants but it turns out all the birds are already injured and directly released into their path? 

“Well, she fell in love—thought she was in love, at least—and got knocked up. Not that I’m complaining, mind. But the nobleman—my father—refused to marry her, and even went so far as to give her money for a hack surgeon to get rid of me. Probably a nasty doctor like the one you went to, which, if you live, we’re gonna have to have a talk about. Anyway, she kept me, thank gods, and told that nobleman that she didn’t want him in our lives, and that she’d keep my paternity secret.

“And so I’ve got no clue who my dad is, and my mom refuses to tell me. But, honestly, with her and Sammy, I think I’ve got a pretty good family anyway, so I don’t—”

“Dean,” Cas rasped.

“Cas, I’m here. What do you need?”

“Shut up.” Cas passed out again, and Dean kept talking.

“...I think the first time I fell for you was the first time we spoke. You’d grabbed a dagger and held it to my neck and accused me of being a thief or killer. You were so small, and you seemed so sheltered, that I hadn’t expected such bravery from you. Of course, now that I know you and what a total badass you are, it’s different. But man, Cas, you had me right from the get-go.

“Now, I don’t know what’s next for us. I mean, you’re keeping secrets, and it’s going to be a problem. Gods, your secrets are the cause of this infection. You need to let someone in, you can’t hold on to this. And I really wish it would be me.”

After two days, Cas’s fever broke. After three days, Cas woke up.

“Water,” he gasped. Dean rushed to grab a dipper of water from the bucket and held it up to Cas’s mouth.

“Not too much, don’t overdo it.”

“How long?”

“You’ve been out three days.”

Cas sighed, then looked down to see his bare chest—covered in poultices and salves, but more importantly, completely bare. “Who saw? Who was in here?” He grabbed Dean by the collar, sitting up. “Who knows?”

“Calm down, Cas. I didn’t let anyone in. I know you’re kinda weird about your chest, and… I hope you don’t hate me for doing what I had to do to keep you alive. It was never my intention to look, you know, but I needed to in order to care for the wounds—they were infected, you know—and I don’t know why it’s such a huge secret but I would never tell Master Bobby or anyone else here knowing that you didn’t want—”

Leaning forward, Cas shut Dean up with a kiss. “You are not disgusted with me?”

“With your chest? No, though we should talk about it once you’re better. With your breath? Yeah, you haven’t brushed your teeth in three days. Maybe hold off kissing until you’re cleaned up?”

Cas smiled slightly. Dean was joking, and Dean still lo—liked him. But would Dean still like him after knowing the truth? Cas decided it couldn’t wait.

“No, we will talk about it now.”

“Cas, it’s not nec—”

“Now, Dean, before I lose my courage. I am not sure where to begin,” Cas said. “I—was not born as Castiel. In fact, I wasn’t ‘born’ male at all. My name is—was—Cassandra, and I was a princess, if you can believe it. Sewing, dancing, the whole farce. Except it was not who I am. There was some… trick by the gods, something. They put me in the wrong body when I was born, and I paid for it every day of my life. I tried to have a surgery to at least correct my top, and look how well that turned out. My father is a cruel man, and he… gods, this is hard.”

Cas let out a small sob and Dean moved to rub his back. The contact showed Cas both that Dean was listening and that he hadn’t scared Dean off yet.

“My father is King Michael Novak of Empyrea, and he is why I fled. When he found out… what I am… he ordered his guards to, um, take me.”

After a silence, Dean asked “Take you where?”

“Take me, Dean. Take me sexually. Rape me. Repeatedly.” Dean froze, hand still on Cas’s back. Cas let out a small, sad laugh. “Sullied me, defiled me, ruined me. I am disgusting. You should probably leave me before I have the chance to sully you too.”

A tear ran down Dean’s face as he gathered Cas into a loose hug, being mindful of his wounded chest, and placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead.

“You’re not disgusting. You’re brave—” kiss “—and strong—” kiss “—and handsome—” kiss “—and I love you.”

Cas looked at Dean in skeptical wonder. “You do not.”

“Of course I do, Cas. You’re my prince charming, swept me off my feet. I didn’t know what I was missing until I met you.”

“But my body—”

“Is just a body. I can’t say I understand, but I believe you, and believe in you. And if you need surgery on your—” Dean gestured vaguely to Cas’s undershorts-covered groin “—cock, I can help you.”

“Help me? That is sweet, but I do not really think you’re skilled—”

“Gods, Cas, I don’t mean I’d do the surgery. I mean, I’ve heard of a northern tribe—still within the kingdom of Lawrence but with only loose fealty to the king—that have shamans known as angels who can commune with the gods to bend reality, cross over into different planes of existence. They can reshape matter. If anyone can reshape your body, it would be them. We should go.”

“Go? Dean, we cannot just go, we have obligations, training—”

“This is more important, Cas.”

“This school is your dream, Dean. This is what you have been training and waiting for your entire life. You can’t throw away your spot at the Bunker on a whore princess like me.” By the end, Cas was shouting.

“You’re my dream, you idiot,” Dean yelled back.

“Oh,” Cas said, much quieter.

A knock at the room’s paper door startled both of them. Bobby drew the panel aside and entered, giving Cas just enough time to throw a sheet over his chest to hide the cuts.

“I am assuming from the shouting that our patient has awoken?”

“Yes, Master Bobby,” Cas said, blushing. “Thank you for allowing Dean time from his studies to tend to me.”

“Speaking of which, um, Master Bobby?” Dean looked at Cas, who looked at him. They appeared to be holding an entire conversation with their faces. Dean’s jade green eyes begging Cas to allow him to help, Cas’s angry sapphire blue eyes pleading with Dean not to throw away his future.

“Yes, Dean Campbell,” Bobby said, amused.

“Cas and I require a month off to take care of personal business. A quest. Um, we kinda have to fix a mistake the gods made?”

“Is this about Castiel’s body?” Bobby asked.

“Wait, you knew?” Cas spluttered.

“Of course, you idjits. I might be mostly blind, but I’m perceptive. I can see your feminine body, just as I can see your masculine soul, and I can see your love for Dean and his for you.”

“And you knew when you allowed me into the school?”

“Yes.”

“So can we—” Dean interrupted.

“Yes, Dean Campbell. You and Castiel may take time from the Bunker for your quest. The two of you work best as a pair anyway, and I fear that Castiel alone would not succeed—not for lack of strength or will, but because he needs you as you need him. Take whatever supplies you require from the storeroom. We shall await your return.”

“Thank you, Master Bobby,” Cas said quietly, bowing at the old man. “I am proud to serve you and your school.”

“And I am proud to have you as a pupil. Go with the gods, boy.”

* * *

Master Bobby, the trainers, and the other students all saw Dean and Cas off, though only Bobby knew where they were going, and why. As the boys sauntered north on Vee and Impala, their bags bursting with provisions, Bobby saw three black ravens soar overhead. An auspicious sign, he smiled to himself.

Passing through meadows and crop fields, the boys talked, more freely than they had before, now that there were no secrets. Cas told Dean about his royal upbringing and what it had been like being treated like a girl. Dean especially liked Cas’s tales about his cousin Gabriel. The pranks he pulled sounded similar to those his own brother enjoyed.

As grassy plains shifted to desert and the sun rose high and hot in the sky, Dean, and then Cas, wrapped scarves around their heads to prevent heat stroke and sunburn. With just a slit for their eyes, and with the wind whipping around them, they were unable to continue conversation. So they continued riding, heading north, in silence.

It was near dark when they stopped for the night. The sun was falling fast and the air was quickly becoming chilled. Hunkering down in their bedrolls, they curled around each other until morning, when they would continue riding.

After four days—four days of hot sun and cold darkness, of stinging sandy wind, salty jerky, and stale water from their skeins—a tent village appeared out of the sand in front of them. They had arrived at the village of the Aggelikos people, home of the shaman angels.

Dismounting some distance from the tents so as not to appear threatening, Cas and Dean led Vee and Impala towards the camp, tying the horses up to a large boulder.

A small black-haired girl, maybe four or five, ran up to the pair. “You’re here.”

“Um, yes, we’re here. I’m Cas, and this—”

“Is Dean, yes, we know. We’ve been waiting for you.” The girl took one of each of their hands and together they walked into the largest tent.

“Pamela, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?” A plump black woman stood, her hands on her hips, as she glared at the girl.

“They’re not strangers, Mama Missouri, they’re Cas and—”

“Yes, I know, sweetheart. Cas and Dean, Cas and Dean.” Missouri looked at the two boys and rolled her eyes. “You’re all she’s been talking about for weeks. The girl has got the gift something fierce, but she’s still so young.”

“You expected us?” Cas squeaked out.

“Of course, boy. The gods let us know you were coming.”

“Did they say whether—I mean, can you—”

“Why don’t you leave Dean with Pamela here so you and I can talk.”

Dean looked at Cas, making sure it was okay to let him be alone with the shaman. Cas nodded at Dean with a small smile, and Dean smiled back. Cas allowed Missouri to lead him a ways out into the desert, where a lone tent stood.

“What… what happens now?” Cas asked nervously.

“This is who the gods made you, boy. A man in your soul, but with this body. I can’t change the gods’ will and fully transform your body; that is not how the balance of power between the celestial and terrestrial works. I can, however, change how your body looks. I can give you a penis—you’ll be able to get erect, and orgasm just as a naturally born male would. But you will never be able to impregnate another, and you will lose your own ability to produce offspring.”

“That’s more than I could have even hoped for,” Cas said, “I hadn’t even realized you’d be able to make me, um, functional, so I never thought to ask.”

“Indeed, Castiel, you ask very little. And that is why the gods allow me to do this for you.”

“I’m honored.” A tear slid down Cas’s cheek. “What must I do?”

Missouri described the process to him. It would be difficult, and risky, but she believed that Cas could do it. They would begin publicly the next morning, though Cas had one step to complete tonight.

Cas returned to Dean. The tribe had erected a small tent for the two of them to rest in while there.

“Dean, I need to talk to you about tomorrow—“

Dean sat down next to Cas on their shared pallet. “What is it?”

“Missouri explained… parts of the ritual. There are some things I need to prepare tonight.”

“Do you need me to find somewhere else to sleep?”

“No, Dean,” Cas said, grabbing Dean’s hand. “It’s something I… I need your help with.”

Dean grasped Cas’s hand back. “Anything. You need but ask.”

“I—gods, um, I-need-to-swallow-a-bunch-of-your-semen.”

Dean stared blankly. “Did you—did you just say what I think you did?”

A deep red blush ran up Cas’s neck as he nodded. “It’s old sex magic, and Missouri says having male essence from someone I love inside me is an essential part, and—“

“Wait, hold on. Did you just say you love me?”

“I—did I?”

A dopey smile crossed Dean’s face. “You did.”

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, it is already so much to lay on you, and—“

Dean shut the other boy up with a tender kiss. “Like I said before, and I’ll say again and again until you believe me, I love you too, idiot.” He pressed their foreheads together. “So, um, how do you want to go about this? I mean, if you want to step out I can find a bowl or—“

“Dean. I was kind of hoping to, you know. Um, straight from the source?”

“You mean—“ Dean flushed as red as Cas. “I’ve never—“

“Me neither, I mean, willingly.”

“Gods Cas, do you think you’d really want to after… after what happened to you?”

“I don’t want or need pity for how I was treated before. I am fifteen, man enough to know what I want, and right now I want to suck your cock.”

“Cas,” Dean hissed, palming his crotch. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Yes, Dean, I can.” The boy licked his lips and leaned over to Dean. “I want you—“ Cas kissed Dean’s neck “—all of you—“ Cas kissed behind Dean’s ear “—and I want to feel you push your seed down my throat,” Cas whispered.

Turning his head towards the younger boy, Dean caught Cas’s mouth in his own and lowered them down to the pallet. Sucking on Cas’s lower lip, he gently stroked the boy’s messy hair.

Cas reached down to the hem of Dean’s robe, tugging the white silk over the man’s head. Moving back slightly, Cas shyly took the hem of his own robe and removed it as well.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean said reverently, taking in Cas’s lean muscles, scars, and healing cuts.

“No—“

“Yes.” Dean kissed each scar, each cut. “All of you is beautiful.” Dean leaned up to capture Cas’s mouth again.

“Dean,” Cas moaned, bringing their torsos together. Skin on skin—Cas’s rough and ragged, Dean’s smooth. Cas felt Dean’s erection against his thigh, and he reached down to free the man’s cock from his undershorts.

Wrapping one hand around it, Cas flipped Dean onto his back and slowly placed soft kisses down his torso.

“Cas,” Dean cried, thrusting up into Cas’s palm.

“Hush. Let me take care of you.”

Cas licked a stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock as the man moaned. Encouraged, Cas took Dean fully into his mouth, covering the length he couldn’t fit with his fist. Dean bucked up unintentionally, causing Cas to gag a little.

“Oh gods, Cas, sorry—“

With a hum around Dean’s member, Cas placed one hand on Dean’s hips to hold the man down. He hollowed out his cheeks and began bobbing his head up and down in earnest. The tent was filled with nothing but sucking noises and quiet moans for several minutes.

“I’m not going to—“ Dean cried as Cas rubbed a dry finger around the older boy’s hole “—last very long—“

Dean was coming down Cas’s throat, and Cas made sure to swallow each drop. The boy kissed his way back up Dean’s torso before lazily giving him a kiss.

“I can taste myself,” Dean said with wonder.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s kind of hot, actually. I can’t wait to try doing that to you.”

“Maybe you can, soon, Dean,” Cas said. If the ritual tomorrow succeeded.

The two boys stayed unclothed—Dean fully naked and Cas in only his undershorts—and exchanged sleepy kisses until they were both asleep.

* * *

At daybreak, when the air was still chilled from the night and the winds were quiet, Missouri came to gather Cas. She led him to the tent away from the tribal village and ushered him inside. While she stood outside the tent’s flaps, Cas stripped himself bare and donned the red undershorts, rough fabric embroidered in black, that the angel had provided.

Taking the boy by the hand, Missouri and Cas walked to an oasis over a mile from camp. Here, in silence, Cas was instructed to bathe himself using the charcoal soap made by the angel.

The cold air, coupled with the cold water, brought goosebumps to Cas’s skin. But he didn’t complain—his mind was elsewhere. He was excited, nervous, and terrified. Hopeful and scared.

Once he was clean, Missouri made him stand and, without drying himself, they walked back across the desert to the lone tent. The sand stuck to his damp feet and legs, becoming itchy as it dried.

Back in the tent, Cas laid down on the pallet. Several other villagers—shaman angels Rowena, and Ruby, and Charlie—joined Missouri. Pamela was there as well, sitting in a corner and beating a rhythm on a goatskin drum.

The angels rubbed Cas’s body down with holy oil and used a red paste to draw symbols—letters from the now-forgotten Enochian language—all over his body. Lines in a black paste were painted on his face, across his eyes and in a thick stripe beginning at his mouth and heading down his chin.

After the boy was fully decorated in paint, all the angels save Missouri bowed to him and left the tent.

“With these robes—” Missouri indicated a pile of clothing on the floor “—you wear the costume of the gods. Passed down generations among the Aggelikos people, they have been blessed by hundreds of shaman angels. Wear them with pride, Castiel. I shall return in an hour to fetch you.”

She exited the tent, and Cas bent down to examine the clothes left for him. He stripped his damp red undershorts and began to dress.

A short woven skirt, embroidered with beads and—were those human teeth? He slipped the skirt around his waist, its uneven hem covering only slightly below his groin. The rough red fabric felt course against his hairless legs.

Next were leather leg gauntlets, which stretched from his ankles to just above his knees. He cinched the ties at the top of the garments tightly to prevent them from falling. The brown leather was embroidered with Enochian symbols, decorated seemingly randomly with sewn-on feathers.

Around his muscular biceps, Cas tied thick armbands made of gold and leather. A bird skull decorated the one on his left arm, and a pink quartz crystal the one on his right. Across his chest, a thick blue-beaded collar, interspersed with bones, teeth, feathers, gems, and charms. It hung heavy around his neck, but the weight was comforting and grounding.

Lastly, he placed the headdress atop his damp hair. A red band held it steady around his temples. It was topped with a full fox skin, little paws dangling down to meet his shoulders. Large elk horns rose from the fox’s head, and the horns were covered with gold leaf. All over the fur were sewn red beads, shiny and glowing even in the shade of the tent.

Once he was dressed, Cas sunk to his knees and waited for Missouri.

Within an hour, the angel was back.

“Well done, Castiel. You do honor to the gods.”

Cas bowed slightly from his kneeling position. He’d been instructed the night before that he would not be permitted to speak until the ritual was complete.

Missouri opened the tent flap for Cas and ushered him outside. He was startled to see that the sun was already setting—it had taken most of the day for his preparations. He hoped that Dean hadn’t worried, and that the man had been able to occupy his time.

As they walked back to the village, Cas heard drums in the silent night.

In the center space between the tents, a circle had been carved in the sand. The villagers—and Dean, Cas was relieved to see—were standing around the circle, Pamela again on the drum. A small gap permitted Cas to pass through them and he kneeled in the center.

He was to spend the night in silent vigil, praying to the gods, and thinking on his body. While it had been a mistake of the gods to put him in this situation, Missouri said that he was required to find the good that had come of their mistake.

At first he thought there was clearly no good—it had been his life’s greatest hardship.

But, had he not been born in a female body, he would have never run away, never found Dean, never found a friend and lover, never joined the Bunker and become strong both of body and mind.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that the villagers, including the shaman angels, had retired to their own tents for the night. Only Dean remained, seated outside the circle and keeping his own vigil on Cas’s behalf.

The two boys were thinking about each other, and how much their lives had changed in the past few months. For the better.

The sun slowly rose and the villagers filtered out. Cas was still kneeling stiffly in the center of the circle, only his deep breathing and open eyes indicating that he was awake and alert. Dean was seated more comfortably outside the circle, but was equally awake.

Around the edge of the circle, Missouri began pouring a thick line of holy oil, encircling the boy.

“Gods,” she said loudly to the sky, “It is your will that we return this man to his rightful body, that which was denied him. He thanks you for all you have done for him over the years, from protecting him to blessing him with the love of another. He has prayed to you daily for years, and with your blessing, he wishes you to grant him his only desire.”

She lit the oil, and flames grew around Cas.

“Through baptism of fire, we recognize the will of the gods.”

Cas stood, his joints sore from kneeling all night.

“Through baptism of fire, we beseech you to grant this man his right.”

Cas raised his hands to the sky, his gaze following.

“Through baptism of fire, we make Castiel the man he is.”

Cas walked through the flames, out of the circle. The flames licked along his body and, for a brief moment, he was fully engulfed. Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay back. This was the most frightening part of the ritual—if the gods did not grant this favor, Cas would burn up.

But, within a tense minute, the flames around Cas, and those around the circle, extinguished themselves. Cas fell to his knees, crying and gasping for air, as Dean rushed towards the boy.

“Cas,” he whispered. “You made it.”

Cas reached beneath his skirt and felt his penis and testicles. Sobbing, he threw himself into Dean’s arms. Dean rocked Cas back and forth, the two of them lying in the sand. The villagers left to their tents to provide the boys privacy.

After minutes—or maybe hours—of holding one another, Dean helped Cas up and walked him to their tent.

“You need to rest, Cas,” Dean said. “Missouri gave me instructions on how to care for you the next few days. We are to remain here, and the village will provide everything you need.”

“They’ve done so much already,” Cas rasped.

“And they’ll do more. They’re good folk.”

“Yes.”

Dean laid Cas on the pallet and stripped the boy of his headdress, collar, armbands, and leg gauntlets. He left the red skirt on—he wasn’t sure whether Cas was ready for Dean to see his genitals. Dean would wait, and allow Cas to show his body on his own terms.

“I love you, Cas. I loved you before, when your body was wrong, and I love you now, when your body is right. I will always love you.”

“You’re such a sap,” the boy said tiredly.

“And you love it.”

“Love it, and love you.”

Closing his eyes, Cas fell into a deep slumber. Dean soon followed suit, the two of them clenched together as closely as possible.

Cas slept for over 24 hours. Dean woke up, ate some of the food that had been delivered to their tent, and continued to watch over the younger man. When Cas finally woke up, his stomach rumbled and he looked at Dean with embarrassment. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Hungry?” Dean asked. Cas nodded, and Dean brought over the tray of food. He picked up each piece with his hands—grapes, crackers, slices of cheese, dried fruits, nuts—and offered them to Cas. At first, Cas tried to take the food from Dean with his hands, but the older boy shook his head, grinning. Rolling his eyes, Cas opened his mouth and allowed Dean to pop the food in. Grinning back, Cas latched his lips around Dean’s fingers each time, making the older boy’s eyes dilate in arousal.

“You tease,” Dean said jokingly.

“It is only teasing if I don’t follow through,” Cas said, smirking. He pointed to the skirt, which was now tented with Cas’s erection.

“Gods, Cas—it really—”

Cas nodded, and leaned forward to capture Dean’s lips with his own. Shoving the older boy down, he rolled on top, lining up their pelvises. Cas ground down, and Dean could feel the boy’s erect length against his hip. Dean reached under Cas’s skirt and grabbed a handful of the boy’s ass. Just from the squeeze, Cas was coming, spilling his seed on the skirt and down the front of Dean’s breeches. Cas looked embarrassed, but Dean just smiled.

“It’s your first time, Cas. You’ll last longer with more practice.”

“I didn’t—you didn’t get off,” Cas said.

“That’s not what’s important right now. There will be so many chances to orgasm with you—together—in the future. We’ve got our whole lives.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself the same question every day. What did you do to deserve me?”

“Shut up, idiot.” Cas smiled and playfully smacked Dean before drawing the man back into a kiss.

“Um, Cas… you totally just got semen on the holy skirt of the gods.”

“Oh no—” Both boys burst out laughing. It had probably been expected, Cas thought. Otherwise, Missouri would have told him to be more careful—after all, she probably knew what would happen once Cas was whole.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Dean brushing the hair out of Cas’s face and Cas stroking Dean’s side.

“Dean, can I ask you a question?” Cas said nervously.

Dean, sensing this was important, shifted up so he could look at Cas. “Anything.”

“...can you teach me how to pee?” More giggles arose from the boys as Dean grabbed Cas’s hand, leading him out the tent to the trench the village used as a latrine.

On the way back from relieving themselves, they ran into Missouri. She took a look at the skirt and rolled her eyes.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, I sense.”

“Yes, Missouri,” Cas said surprised. “How did you kn—never mind. Yes, we are.”

“Before you leave, I have something for you. Come to my tent.” Cas pecked a kiss on Dean’s cheek and followed the angel. Laid out on a table was a bundle of herbs.

“This powder is pine pollen, this root is called ashwaganda, and this is Lu Rong, the antler of a young deer. When they’re combined in powder form, they can create some additional changes in your body. This isn’t magic, boy—just science. They can create small hormone changes such as deepening your voice or causing you to grow hair elsewhere on your body.”

“Like, I could grow a beard?”

“Maybe someday, yes. I wanted to give you these for now, but your master should be able to help you locate more once you’re home.”

“How—how can I ever repay you?”

“You can’t,” Missouri said smiling. “All you can do is live your best life and respect the gods.”

“But at the school—we’re training to kill. How can I live a good life in the eyes of the gods if I am a murderer?”

“Castiel. Listen to me. If the gods didn’t will it, you wouldn’t be there. Even politics, and murder, hold a role in the circle of life. This is your fate, boy. And you will excel.”

Cas thanked Missouri with a deep bow and went to rejoin Dean. The boys changed into their white robes and packed their gear, loading the saddlebags on Vee and Impala.

The entire village turned out to see Cas and Dean off. Pamela, crying, gave both of them crowns of holly and told them they’d better come to visit. Missouri, eyes not completely dry either, gave both of them hugs, whispering into each boy’s ear separately. When she whispered in Dean’s ear, he blushed bright pink under his freckles and stared at Cas, smiling. When she whispered in Cas’s ear, he turned red and looked at the ground, biting his lip but clearly happy at what he had heard.

With a wave, Dean and Cas set out into the desert to return to the Bunker.


	4. To Learn a Lesson

Master Bobby welcomed them back to the Bunker with open arms, pleased that their quest had been a success. He didn’t ask any questions, but it was clear that he had expected them back only if the ritual had worked. And he was glad it had. He didn’t want to lose an entire year’s worth of students.

Nothing had changed at the Bunker—nothing besides Cas and Dean. The resumed their cooking and cleaning rotations, classes, training sessions, and meditation practice.

But the boys felt lighter somehow. Cas because his body finally felt right. Dean because there were no more secrets between the two. And both because they were in love.

The first night back, they dragged their sleeping pallets together, even though they were cuddled up together on Cas’s pallet and sharing a pillow. They’d eschewed nightshirts; they were now comfortable enough with each other to sleep in undershorts only.

“Did you know that the Hunters trained at the Bunker were assassins?” Cas asked in the dark, their faces lit dimly by a single lantern.

“I had a vague idea, but most of what’s spread about the Bunker are rumors. Does it bother you?”

“I thought it did, but now, no. It doesn’t bother me. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No, not unless it makes me one too,” Dean said. The boys spent several moments in silence, Cas nestled in the crook of Dean’s neck. “What do you think it’s like to kill someone?”

“Not sure,” Cas said. “I felt bad killing a rabbit, but the rabbit had no idea what was going on. I figure that a person targeted for assassination has done something bad, or their family has done something bad. You don’t hire a Hunter to kill random targets.”

“That’s true.”

“Yeah.” Cas begun placing gentle kisses on Dean’s neck and behind the man’s ear. A moan rose out of Dean. “Quiet, or Master Bobby will hear,” Cas whispered.

“As if he doesn’t already know,” Dean said, purposely moaning louder.

“You’re incorrigible,” Cas said, playfully slapping Dean. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen,” Dean said in a low voice. Dean rolled Cas on his back and pinned the boy’s arms above his head.

“Stop,” Cas said, seriously. “Don’t hold me down. I’m—I’m not ready for that.”

Dean immediately released Cas’s arms. “I’m sorry. We can stop for the night if you need to. I don’t ever want to—”

“I appreciate that. Now get back down here and kiss me.”

With a smirk, Dean leaned back over the younger man, his hands gently lacing with Cas’s. He captured Cas’s lips with his own as he rolled his hips down. Cas arched up to increase the pressure between their groins. Dean tilted Cas’s head to the side and latched onto his neck, sucking a possessive bruise into the supple olive flesh.

“Dean,” Cas moaned, thrusting upwards.

The older boy placed a hand on Cas’s hips, stilling his movements. “I think I made a promise to you in the desert,” he said, placing kisses across Cas’s chest. “And I’m thinking I’d like to collect on it now.”

“You don’t have to—”

Dean was untying Cas’s undershorts, pushing the linen fabric off and onto the floor. He kept moving down Cas’s torso, exploring each inch with his tongue. Sucking a bruise on the boy’s right hip, he licked a stripe down Cas’s inner thigh, from the ditch of the groin to a few inches above his knee. Cas shuddered.

“Please, Dean, I need—”

“Hush, sweetheart. I got you.” With a kiss to Cas’s inner thigh, Dean positioned himself over Cas’s groin. Cas was fully hard, his uncircumcised member leaking on his stomach. With small licks, Dean cleaned up the boy’s precum before taking the length into his mouth.

Again, Cas didn’t last very long, spilling his seed down Dean’s throat. Dean swallowed and moved back up Cas’s body. As Cas kissed the man deeply, he reached down to untie and remove Dean’s undershorts. Licking his hand, Cas grabbed Dean’s cock and began to slowly pump in time with his kisses.

Dean keened into Cas’s palm and the two continued making out, with Dean rutting against the younger boy until he was coming into Cas’s hand. Cas looked Dean in the eye as he raised the hand to his mouth and licked his lover’s seed off.

“Cas—” Dean said, breathless.

“I know,” said Cas. “I love you too.”

Both men fully naked, the lantern still glowing softly, Dean wrapped Cas in his arms and they fell asleep facing one another.

* * *

Their agility trainer was a young, awkward man named Garth. He was very skinny but surprisingly fast and flexible. Master Garth, as he was called, wasn’t a Hunter—none of the trainers, not even Master Bobby, were Hunters—but he was awarded a close level of reverence.

Cas and Dean were taking turns running the course constructed in a clearing behind the school. The course changed each week so that the students couldn’t get used to it. Obstacles were moved around, removed, or added. Each lap they took, Garth called out encouragements, incredibly cheery in comparison to the rest of the faculty of the Bunker.

“Way to go, Dean, show that rope who’s boss.” “Alright Castiel, I knew you could do it.”

The boys were both covered in sweat and had stripped down to their linen breeches. Cas’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his bangs curling with the humidity.

When they reconvened at the start of the course, Garth gave them pause to drink water from their skeins and stretch.

“One more round, but this time I want you to do it together.”

“Sir?” Cas asked.

“Hunters are usually in the field on assignment in pairs. The reason the Bunker only takes two students a year is because they are designed to be a pair. The tryouts also evaluate your compatibility—your chemistry—with the other contenders. You, and Dean… you will be partners.”

“Oh,” Cas said in a small voice. He looked over at Dean, who was beaming back at him.

_ Forever _ , Dean mouthed at Cas. Cas blushed and smiled.

“So…? Are you going to start?”

“Apologies, Master Garth. Immediately.” Cas bowed to Garth, and Dean quickly did the same. The two boys lined up at the starting line. With a silent look at each other, they began.

As Dean moved up the rungs of something Garth called a salmon ladder, Cas shimmied up the ladder’s side at the same pace. Their differing methods of ascending the obstacle focused on their abilities—Dean’s raw strength, and Cas’s nimbleness.

A thin wire strung high between trees was next. From the top of the salmon ladder, Cas jumped atop the wire and tiptoed across. Dean grasped the bottom of the wire and swung himself hand-over-hand to the other side.

A seven foot wooden wall, smooth planed, was the final obstacle this week. It was the one that Dean always struggled with the most. Cas crouched near the wall and held his hands together, and Dean stepped one foot into them as Cas helped lift Dean to the top. As Dean wiggled over the wall, Cas stepped back and took a running leap, grasping the wall’s lip and vaulting over it.

The two of them slowly jogged back to Garth.

“I like how you worked together on the wall. Run it once more. This time, you switch,” Garth said as the boys caught their breath. “Castiel, you will replicate Dean’s course. Where he used his strength, you will use your strength. Dean, the same—where Castiel relied on his speed and flexibility, you will do the same.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other with a grimace. Cas’s blue eyes asked whether it could really be that hard, and Dean’s green eyes answered that it would be a total failure.

It was a total failure. Cas lacked the upper body strength to make it up the salmon ladder, Dean lacked the balance to walk across the wire. Neither could figure out how to get Dean up the wall.

Master Garth looked at them. “It’s not enough to rely on your innate talents. You need to expand, to learn other ways to approach your obstacles. Quit being complacent.”

The two younger men looked down, chastised. “Yes, Master Garth,” Cas said.

“You still did a good job today, don’t worry. You two have a few years at the Bunker before your first assignment—you’ve only been here for six months. We’ll whip you into shape in no time.”

Both boys bowed. “Thank you, Master Garth,” Dean said, touched.

* * *

The trainer of manners and comportment was a prissy man named Master Crowley. He didn’t wear the black robes the other trainers wore, instead wearing expertly tailored black breeches and doublets.

Dean and Cas had been practicing bowing to each other for the past thirty minutes. Every so often, Crowley would shout a designation—princess, king, duke, merchant—and the boys had to adapt the style of bow. He would also give them roles, since they would usually be undercover in the field, so they had to bow as if they were a king, duke, or merchant.

“I’m bored. This is boring,” Crowley sighed.

“Um, Master Crowley—” Cas said.

“I usually keep seduction techniques for the second-year students, but you two are advancing too quickly. Castiel, you clearly are hiding a noble background, and Dean, you are a quick learner.” Crowley grabbed two books from the classroom’s library and handed them to the boys. “Amara’s Treatise on the Sexual and Sensual, second edition. A classic.”

Cas and Dean exchanged glances. The red leather-bound books were small but weighty.

“Are there pictures?” Dean asked.

“Don’t be an ass—” Crowley smacked the back of Dean’s head “—just read the book. We’ll discuss it in the next hour, and then maybe try out some of the techniques.”

Yes, there were pictures, and there were detailed descriptions as well. Not just on how to seduce another—though Dean was pleased to note that the book covered all sexual orientations and genders—but also on… what happened after the seduction. The boys were both red in the face and half-erect by the time they finished. Cas was a slightly faster reader, so he sat there, book pressed heavily against his crotch trying to will his erection down, while he watched Dean squirm.

“Enough,” Crowley said. “Page 32, act it out. Castiel, you’re the prince.”

Both boys stood, holding their books, facing each other awkwardly. Page 32 was a script about a prince seducing a stableboy. It had included suggestions for each party’s body movements, language and tone, and facial expressions.

“Um, my lord—um, I mean Highness,” Dean began.

“Stableboy. How dare you address your prince,” Cas rasped angrily. Dean started—he had forgotten that Cas was actually the son of a king. “I should have your head for insolence.”

“No, Sire, please, there must be something I can do to make it right.” Dean kneeled before Cas, looking up bashfully through thick eyelashes.

Cas walked a circle around Dean, brushing one hand along the other man’s sternum. “There is something you can do for me,” he said cruelly, fingering the edge of Dean’s robe collar.

“Sire, anything.”

Grabbing the front of Dean’s robe, Cas dragged the man up until they were face to face. Growling, Cas said, “Bend over.”

Dean whimpered, at which point Crowley said, “That’s enough for today.”

Both boys were panting, fully erect, and staring in each other’s eyes. Dean’s green eyes said that he couldn’t believe they’d done that with Crowley in the room, and Cas’s blue eyes said that he was going to be pissed if they didn’t get back to their dorm within the next five minutes to finish what they had started.

“Next week we can work on a more advanced topic, like power and impact play,” Crowley continued, ignoring the lustful looks Cas and Dean were making at one another.

“Sir?” asked Dean, distracted.

“Sexy spankings,” Crowley said, and Dean unintentionally moaned. “Get out, you’re dismissed for the day.”

As the boys sprinted out of the room, Cas still holding his copy of the book, Bobby came in through the other door. “That wasn’t part of the curriculum, you idjit.” He smacked Crowley upside the head.

“The boys needed a little encouragement,” Crowley said, smirking. “They’re still virgins, can you believe it? I mean, not for much longer—”

Bobby sighed as he heard the door to Cas and Dean’s room slam open and shut rapidly.

Dean was tugging Cas through the door and, when he paused before their bedrolls, Cas pushed him down to land on his back. He flung off his white robe, breeches, and undershorts before straddling Dean’s lap, his naked member rutting against Dean’s clothed one.

“How—how do you want to do this?” Dean panted, the friction simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Well, stableboy,” Cas moaned, “I’ve got a pot of salve oil in the dresser.”

A particularly hard thrust made Dean groan. “I mean—you saw the pictures—which do you—which one do you want to be?”

“You mean the penetrator or penetrated?”

“Gods Cas—don’t ever say penetrate again. I mean, do you want to fuck me, or—”

“I want you to put your cock in me.”

As Cas ran to the dresser to grab the pot of oil, Dean stripped off his clothes. Following the instructions in the book, Dean used his oiled fingers to open Cas’s hole, starting with one but working up to three. At first, Cas was struggling to relax enough to allow Dean entry, but Dean soon found that taking Cas’s length into his mouth relaxed the other boy.

Slowly pulling his fingers out, Dean slathered more oil on his member. He hovered himself over Cas’s hole.

“Are you—are you ready?”

“Dean. I’ve been ready. I’m a virgin—in the way it really matters, at least—but I’m yours. Yours, and only yours.” He pulled Dean’s face towards his and softly kissed the man. With their faces still close together, Cas then growled, “Now, fuck me.”

With a groan, Dean slowly slid into Cas, giving the younger man time to adjust to his thick, uncircumcised length. Their cries and moans were audible through the entire Bunker, as neither had the sense left to keep the noise down. From his classroom, Crowley smirked. He’d never had a romantically involved Hunter pair before; this was going to be fun.

* * *

Master Rufus was a no-nonsense grizzled black man who taught stealth skills. Camouflage, lock picking, breaking and entering—skills that no law-abiding citizen would ever need.

Each week, Rufus would assign the pair a target—one of the trainers, one of the other students, or even Bobby himself. He would instruct them on what to do—steal something, leave something behind, or rearrange something. The next week, they would return and tell Rufus how they had done it and the outcome, after which he’d review the skills they used and assign a new target.

This week, Cas and Dean were stealing their largest target yet—an ancient relic Bobby had collected, known as the Hand of Glory.

Cas had just finished applying dark green camouflage paint to Dean’s face, and was waiting for Dean to reciprocate. As Dean dabbed a small blob on Cas’s face, he paused.

“Um, Cas, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh ha ha, Dean, very funny.”

“No seriously,” Dean said, dragging the younger boy over to the mirrored glass in their room. “Look.”

Looking at his own face, Cas’s eyes widened and became slightly watery. “I have a beard, Dean.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. You’ve got peach fuzz, Cas.”

“But it’s mine.”

“It’s yours. Now let me cover it up with paint.”

Cas rolled his eyes but allowed Dean to smear the dark green over his face. Once the boys were fully painted, dressed in dark loose breeches and shirts, they snuck out of the window of their room into the dark night and crept in the direction of Bobby’s room.

As Dean stood lookout, Cas jimmied the lock on Bobby’s window and slowly slid it open—only to hear bells ringing loudly.

“You really think I leave my room unguarded, knowing what a prick Rufus is?” Bobby said, still half asleep. “Idjits.”

After regrouping, Dean and Cas tried again the next day. They were on tea service this week, which was usually taken in the students’ and masters’ rooms. Bringing a tray of Bobby’s favorite green tea, Dean walked to the master’s room and softly entered as Cas lay in wait in the hall. With a small stumble, Dean was soon falling, the tray clattering to the ground, hot tea splashing on Bobby’s lap.

“By the gods, boy, what were you thinking,” Bobby shouted, standing up. “You could have burned me.”

“Master Bobby,” Dean said apologetically, “you must forgive me. Please, come with me and I’ll take you to the infirmary to look at your burns.”

A second passed, and Bobby started chuckling. “You almost had me, boy. Where’s that partner of your hiding?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said.

“Are you in the hallway, Castiel?”

“...no?” a soft answer came from the hall as Bobby doubled over laughing.

There was only one more night before their class with Master Rufus met again, and the pair didn’t want to come back empty handed. They hadn’t failed an assignment yet. Rufus had mentioned that Bobby was one of the most difficult targets, and they were finding that to be the case. Tension was high between them, both boys fearing failure.

Cas and Dean were standing outside of Bobby’s room on the final night, arguing loudly. Cas wanted to try another break-in, using the sliding door once Bobby was asleep. Dean wanted to try another ruse to get Bobby to let them into his room.

Bobby couldn’t sleep for all the nose, and thundered to the door. “Will you two idjits shut up? I’m trying to get my beauty rest.”

“I can’t work with him any longer,” Dean said angrily. “He thinks he’s so much better than me, just another noble-born brat. It always has to be his way. I don’t even know why we’re together, it’s not as if I ever actually lo—”

Cas startled both Dean and Bobby by slapping Dean across the face. “I hate you,” he hissed, then purposefully strode away.

Dean raised a hand to his cheek, watching his lover leave. “He’s running away,” Dean said dejectedly. “He’s running away from me. Leaving me. Why would I ever believe I even deserved him in the first—”

Bobby yawned, pissed off. “Family spat?”

“We’re not family,” Dean spat out vehemently.

“Family don’t end with blood, boy. Castiel is your family, just like you’re his. You think family’s supposed to make you feel good? They’re supposed to make you miserable—that’s why they’re family.”

“Frankly, Master Bobby, that’s bullcrap. But I’m fine, it’s fine, we’ll be fine.”

“Are we done feeling our feelings? Because I’d like to go back to bed.”

Dean nodded, steely faced. “Can I sleep in the common room tonight? I’m… not ready to—”

“Fine, but tomorrow, you and that boy work it out, okay? I’m not losing a year’s worth of Hunters because you two got your feelings hurt.”

Bobby turned to re-enter his room, when he noticed his window was open and the trunk where the Hand of Glory had been stored was ajar. The boys had joined strategies—a ruse to get him out of the room, and a break-in to steal the target. “Balls.”

* * *

Cole—not Master Cole, not Trainer Cole, not sir, just Cole—was a veteran of the border security troops in the south. He excelled in many fighting styles, including both with weapons and without. He was also practiced in poisons and torture; Cas and Dean had been trained to build up immunity to multiple poisons, and were able to withstand most forms of torture that would break even the most hardy of veterans.

Standing in the courtyard on a sunny day, each boy had a thin leather cord tied securely around his neck. The goal was for the other to remove the cord.

There were no rules, other than to not kill the other. And to try and avoid major injury, if possible.

Cas and Dean both removed their white robes, leaving their loose white breeches on. Facing each other, they bowed and adopted fighting stances.

Cas was balanced on one foot, his other leg high and to the side. His hands were laced together and placed over his heart. Dean’s stance was much lower to the ground, his bulky weight balanced equally between his feet, knees bent. His left side was facing Cas, his hands brought into fists in front of his chest.

They held these poses as Cole pulled a table over to the side, and placed several weapons on it: broadswords, rapiers, daggers, crossbows, and brass knuckles.

“Each of you is to incorporate two weapons into your sparring at some point. They need not be the same weapon, and they need not be at the same time. Understand?”

“Yes,” both boys said.

“Begin.”

Cas sprinted towards the table and leapt up on it, grabbing one of the broadswords. He flipped over Dean, smacking the other man on his ass with the blunt side of the blade.

Rolling his eyes at Cas’s smirk, Dean lowered his center of gravity even further and lunged at Cas’s legs, tackling the other boy to the ground. Pining Cas down—Cas was no longer as sensitive to being restrained, and had even played around with it during Crowley’s ‘lessons’—Dean sat on Cas’s back as the smaller boy wiggled.

With a pinch to the inside of Dean’s knee, the larger boy flinched enough that Cas could roll out from under him. Cas resumed a fighting stance, holding the broadsword in the traditional en garde position.

From the table, Dean grabbed a pair of brass knuckles, grinning. He slipped them on and crouched down, motioning to Cas to attack him. Cas charged at Dean, swinging the sword. Dean raised his hands and caught the blade on his knuckles, sparks flying. At a rapid-fire pace, Cas continued to parry, as Dean blocked with his covered hands.

Cas jumped and kicked off of Dean’s broad chest, flipping backwards and throwing the broadsword to the side. Once Dean finished staggering, he looked around to find Cas. The younger man was grabbing a crossbow from the table, a wicked smile on his face.

Dean indicated approval with his eyes, smiling. Cas eyed his recognition back. He loosed an arrow at Dean’s feet, which wedged its way deep into the dirt, pinning Dean’s bootlace to the ground. With a growl, Dean wrenched his boot away and charged at Cas.

Cas leapt away, but Dean lowered his body and slid clear under the table, grabbing a dagger from it. Once on the other side, he flipped the table on its side—not a second too soon, as another arrow from Cas embedded itself in the tabletop.

Both boys were deadly silent. Cas knew Dean was still behind the table, but Dean had no idea where his opponent was standing. He had to use what he knew of Cas to try and predict the other boy’s next move.

Right-handed, and holding a crossbow. It’s difficult to aim downwards, so Cas probably wouldn’t be coming over the top of the table. And approaching from the left would require him to expose more of his body in order to point at Dean. Therefore, Dean predicted, Cas would come around the right side of the table.

Dean was correct, and the moment Cas peered around the table’s right side, he tackled the smaller boy. 

When they stopped rolling on the ground, Dean had the dagger point against the cord on Cas’s neck, and Cas was pointing the loaded crossbow directly at Dean’s throat. It was a draw.

Dean indicated the depth of his love for the other man with his clear green eyes. Cas rolled his softer blues, but he was smiling.

* * *

Over the next two years, Dean and Cas excelled at their training. Dean celebrated his 18th and 19th birthdays, and Cas his 16th and 17th. They watched the older students graduate, and oversaw the tryouts of the new students. The two stayed as close as ever, as partners in Hunting, physically, and romantically.

In agility training, they’d both broadened their skills. Cas was still more agile than Dean, just as Dean still had more raw strength. Under Master Garth’s tutelage, they had diversified their skill sets, but also become more adept at working together.

As for comportment training, it wasn’t until halfway through their final year that Master Crowley admitted that seduction techniques—which, to be honest, were more sexual that seductive—weren’t actually part of the curriculum. Cas quietly called Crowley a pervert, but Dean secretly was thankful to the man. It had been a lot more fun than learning stuffy manners, and it had given them many things to practice during their evenings.

Cas and Dean had surpassed Rufus’s expectations. He was continually having to go into their room to retrieve his belongings, which he hadn’t even told them to target—they were just stealing his possessions because they thought it hilarious. No matter the security he set up or the places he hid things, the pair was able to break in anywhere and take anything.

Fights between the two more often than not ended in a draw. And fights between them and Cole, Bobby, or Bobby and Cole together were evenly split. Dean continued to favor brass knuckles and daggers, while Cas liked longer-range weapons such as swords and bows. With their skills, especially when paired together fighting a common opponent, they were practically undefeatable.

As they were nearing the end of their third year at the Bunker, Master Bobby called Cas and Dean into his office. They stood tall and proud, facing the man as warriors, as Hunters.

“At ease, men,” Bobby said, motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Your training at the Bunker is complete. Now, I will not say your overall training is complete, as you will never stop learning in your life. But it is time you were let into the world, to enter the service of King Winchester, and to take your first assignment.”

“Master Bobby,” Dean said, bowing and then sitting. 

Cas followed suit. “What assignment do we have?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. The king has asked for you—for you two particularly—to attend to him in the capital city of Lawrence. You will be given several days to prepare, to hire a tailor to make you new clothes fit for the royal court, and to pack your belongings. The king expects you to arrive at the palace’s east gate seven days hence. He has also sent substantial coin, and a letter of credit, so that you may gather the supplies you need.”

Dean and Cas shared a look, their eyes making plans for the next few days, mapping out a route to the capital, and expressing emotions to one another.

“Thank you, Master Bobby. For everything. It has been a privilege to be your pupil.” Dean stood and bowed to Bobby.

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you,” Bobby said. “Don’t need to be formal anymore. You’re graduated, you’re a Hunter now. Skip the ‘Master’ bullcrap and just call me Bobby.”

Cas stood, wide-eyed but smiling, and bowed to Bobby. “Yes sir, Master Bobby,” he said with a smirk.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Now get out of here and get ready.”

The boys left Bobby’s office and, silently, agreed that they’d head into town to find the tailor first. They knew it would likely take the seamstress several days to complete multiple sets of clothing, so they wanted to give her as much time as possible.

The ‘seamstress’ turned out to be a large, burly man by the name of Benny. With efficient precision, he used a knotted cord to take down the men’s measurements, asking what garments they were looking for.

“A mix of travelling wear, court dress, and daily nobility wear. Dark colors for me, greens, plaids, and leathers,” Dean said.

“Also dark colors for me, but blues, silks, and embroideries,” Cas said. “I particularly like bees, if you think you can do them.”

Benny laughed. “Come back in three days, brothers, and I’ll have five suits ready for each of you.”

Dean and Cas ran several more errands before returning to the Bunker. They stocked up on dried foods for the ride, on fresh tack and equipment for their horses, on new bedrolls, travel cloaks and travel clothes, rucksacks, and new leather boots and gloves. Benny, on time as his word, personally delivered their new wardrobes to the front gate of the Bunker.

All too soon, it was the day Cas and Dean were set to ride out. In the early dawn light, they gathered in the courtyard, Vee and Impala already saddled and hitched outside the gate. The boys bowed to the others there, first and most deeply to Master Bobby, then to the other Masters, and lastly to the students.

The pair of new Hunters headed out the gate, followed by Crowley wolf-whistling and telling them to “have fun, boys.” They didn’t need to turn around to see Bobby rolling his eyes.


	5. To Kill a King

With a day to spare, Dean and Cas entered the lower city of Lawrence. In the bustling outskirts, they located a small inn and booked a single room—with a single bed, to the scandal of the innkeeper. Dean gave the woman an extra gold coin to fill the room’s bathtub and to launder their clothes for them.

An enjoyable bath together in the steaming water quickly turned to rutting against one another as water sloshed over the tub’s edges. Giggling as they got out and pushed over to the bed, each man went to his own bag and withdrew a bottle of salve oil.

Dean looked at Cas wryly, raising his left hand and placing his right first into it. A cocked eyebrow and an eye roll came from Cas, but the younger man soon followed suit.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” Dean said, throwing two fingers out as scissors.

“Always with the scissors, Dean,” Cas joked, showing his fist in the rock position. Dean tossed his bottle back in his rucksack as Cas began covering his own fingers with the oil. As Dean laid back, Cas worked one finger, then two, then three into the man, as they had done to each other so many times before.

“Cas, yes—right there—” Dean moaned as Cas crooked his fingers inside before fully withdrawing them. Liberally coating his member in the oil, he gently breached Dean’s hole.

The two boys rocked together, exchanging soft kisses, slowly turning to harder kisses and eventually just panting again each other’s mouth. Speed picked up. Each thrust harder, deeper. Cas felt his pleasure rising in his lower stomach, and he reached a hand between them to grip Dean’s member. Stroking Dean in time with his own thrusts. Hearing Dean’s moans, in harmony with his own.

Dean arched his back and threw his head onto the pillow, spilling his seed into Cas’s hand. “Cas—” he cried out. As the muscles of Dean’s hole fluttered with the strength of his orgasm, Cas soon followed suit, coming inside his partner.

Still inside of Dean, Cas leaned forward and nuzzled in the crook of Dean’s neck. “I love you.”

“And I you. Except we just bathed, and already I am covered in sweat.”

Cas chuckled. “Leave it. I want you to stay like this, smelling like me, like sex. I want the king to be able to smell it.”

“Pervert,” Dean said, smiling. Cas pulled his softening member out of Dean and reached for a washcloth to wipe the seed from his hand, their stomachs, and Dean’s hole.

The two men curled around one another, naked and sweat-covered, as they fell into a restful sleep.

They woke up to a knock on the door. Sunlight was streaming in through the window; this must be the wake-up call they had asked for. Stretching and sharing a brief morning kiss, Dean then rolled out of bed while Cas propped himself up against the pillow.

Dean dressed as Cas watched, the younger man’s love—and lust—evident in his blue eyes. They were going to meet the king today, and their clothing mattered more than it ever had before. Each had chosen an outfit that reflected their high and revered status but also emphasized how dangerous they were.

Bending over to give Cas a nice view of his ass and still-stretched hole, Dean put on his undershorts and a short olive green shift. A pair of of black stockings and long black breeches went under a matching black doublet. He laced the stays of the breeches to the doublet and pulled a dark green-dyed leather jerkin on top. In the dark colors, Dean’s golden hair and freckle-covered pale skin stood out. To Cas, the other man had never looked so radiant, and he said as much.

Cas finally wiggled his way out of bed. Despite being more sluggish than his partner in the mornings, he still dressed himself with more grace than Dean could ever hope to have. His stockings, which only Dean would be able to see anyway, were a bright scarlet. Dean blushed when he saw the younger man rolling them up his thighs and attaching them to his undershorts. Where Dean’s suit was black, Cas’s was a rich midnight blue, embroidered with constellations. Cas had been thrown off when he’d first seen the garment—its embroidery pattern so similar to the hated gown of his youth—but he felt that it was fitting, as a reminder of how far he’d come in a scant few years. 

The two men sat on the edge of the bed together, rubbing shoulders as they laced their boots. They exchanged soft, slightly nervous smiles about the day ahead, before heading down to the inn’s common room for breakfast. Within the next hour, Cas and Dean would present at the palace’s east gate to be led to an audience with the king.

* * *

The knights who met Cas and Dean at the east gate looked at the boys with ill-concealed terror. Neither Hunter was wearing a sword or other visible weapon—and here, the only ones foolhardy enough to be unarmed were those who were skilled enough to not need weapons. Among the upper echelon of the king’s court, a select few close knights knew who the Hunters were. These two knights had been trusted to meet the pair, a great honor. With one knight leading them and the other following behind, they nervously walked the young men to the king’s study.

King Winchester’s heir and only son Prince Adam was talking with his father in the study, but the king swiftly shooed the young teen out through a side door so he couldn’t see the Hunters.

“Come in, gentlemen,” the king bowed low to them. The boys bowed back—a similar depth to their bow: no more, and no less—and then stood proud and tall.

Even though they were but teenagers, and neither had ever even killed a man, the king was looking at two of the most skilled assassins in his kingdom. It was true that Hunters swore fealty to the king. But it was also true that they were worthy of as much—or more—reverence than the king. Were their identities not secret—were they not essentially ghosts, rumors—they would be exalted.

“I am honored to see you both again, Hunters. Hunter Castiel,” he said, tilting his head at Cas.

“Your majesty.”

“You’ve grown since we last met. And I believe that, this time, you actually recognize me,” the king teased. “And Hunter Dean Campbell.”

Dean bowed. “Sire.”

“I knew your mother, Mary, when she worked as a groundskeeper at the palace. She was a lovely woman.”

“She still is, sire. You—does that mean you know who my father was?” Dean had long since given up asking his mother the man’s identity, and had tried to fool himself into believing that he no longer cared. And yet, his childhood as a bastard had not left his mind, try as he might.

“Dean, I—you must understand why I was never able to claim—I was already arranged to marry Queen Kate, and it would have been a scandal. When your mother told me she was keeping you—I asked nothing of her, other than to hide you. Adam—he is my only legitimate son, and it must stay that way. Do you understand?”

“Your majesty, King John, sire… are you saying what I think you are?”

“If you’re asking whether I’m your biological father, then yes. But that information must never leave this room. Not even the queen nor Adam know, and they can never find out.”

Dean and Cas shared a brief, silent conversation with their eyes. “That is acceptable, your majesty. I don’t wish for anything from you other than as my service as a Hunter to the crown. Besides, being unrecognizable is an asset in my field.” Dean knew he would need some time to process the king’s words, but it would take place later, when he was alone.

“Please, Hunters, take a seat,” the king said, motioning at the settee in front of him.

The young men sat as instructed, though they were as close together as possible. Their sides were pressed together from their knees to their shoulders. The king gave them an odd, and increasingly angry, look. Cas met the older noble’s eyes with a raise of his own eyebrow. He grabbed Dean’s hand, stroking the back of his knuckles, and lifted it to his lips in a gentle kiss.

“Is there a problem, King John?” Cas asked sardonically. Dean moved to nuzzle his partner’s neck, playing up the show for the king.

“No—I mean, I wasn’t—” the king sputtered. “I have to right to pass judgement on you, Hunters. You act outside of society, without the realms of the gods. I mean, were you my sons—”

“Your legitimate sons, you mean,” Dean said, still rubbing against Cas’s throat.

“—it would not be acceptable, but—”

“Your majesty. It would be a good idea for you to shut up now before you insult us further,” Cas purred. He gave an amused glance at Dean, who then moved away from Cas’s neck.

“Of course, Hunters.” The king cleared his throat. “I—we should begin, anyway. I have an assignment for you, as you likely expect. However, it’s… large. Larger than I’ve given before. I was actually waiting for the pair of you—from the tryouts three years ago, I knew—”

Dean motioned with his free hand for the king to get to the point.

“King Michael Novak of Empyrea,” King John said simply. “I need you to kill him.”

Cas held up one hand to pause the king and turned to look at Dean. The pair held an entire communication with their face. Dean’s green eyes were searching for Cas’s emotions, to see how his partner was feeling at being contracted to murder his own father. Cas’s blue eyes, however, were a steely blue; he was looking forward to it. Cas lowered his hand and motioned for the king to continue.

“His heir, Prince Gabriel, has shown less warmongering behaviors, and is known to be a libertine. Our kingdom believes he would be a superior ruler of Empyrea as far as Lawrence is concerned, and could even resolve our kingdoms’ stalemate.”

“And what of King Michael’s previous heir?” Cas asked, serious faced.

“The Princess Cassandra? I forget that you’ve been sequestered in your Bunker for so many years. A tragic and romantic story, so I’ve been told.” At the boys’ curious looks, King John continued. “The princess fell in love with a stableboy but she was arranged to marry another. Right before her wedding day, she ran off to meet with the boy. However, he spurned her advances. Broken hearted, she fled to the woods to commit suicide. She threw herself from a cliff into a deep ravine, waters rushing fast. They never found her body.”

Dean choked, trying not to laugh. “A stableboy?”

“I’m sure he was very handsome, Dean,” Cas said, smiling peacefully. His father’s advisors must have come up with the tale themselves to make it seem as if his father’s own cruel actions hadn’t been the cause of the princess’s disappearance.

The king was puzzled by their exchange but decided not to question it. “According to the ballads that have been written about it, he was.”

“Very handsome,” Cas repeated, grabbing Dean’s inner thigh. The older boy’s muscles twitched and he bit his lip to prevent making a sound.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, King John stood. “I don’t have a firm timeline for you to complete this task, though I have heard rumors that the Empyrean army is considering building barracks near the border within the next year. I would like it taken care of before war breaks out.”

“Of course, sire,” Dean said. “Do you have any preferences on how it is to be achieved?”

“Private, public... painful?” Cas continued.

Looking at the two Hunters and their cruel expressions, the king realized fully for the first time that he was looking at two trained assassins. He had been treating them as common citizens, as boys, talking without the proper amount of respect, and he hoped they would not hold anything against him. He needed the support and fealty of these two men.

“It is entirely your choice, sirs. I would not dare to begin telling you how to Hunt.”

Cas nodded, amused at the king’s shift in demeanor. “With your leave, your majesty?”

“Of course,” the king rushed to bow to the boys. “I will send you with more coin and another letter of credit, and you may help yourself to anything in the palace stores and armory.”

“Thank you, King John.” Cas said as he stood up, offering a hand to Dean to pull him up as well.

Still holding Cas’s hand, Dean said, “Your majesty. I will send my mother your regards.”

The two Hunters walked out the study door to make their way to check out the armory, giggling once they were out of the king’s earshot. King John sank back into his armchair and, with a shaking hand, poured himself a strong drink. None of the other Hunter pairs he had worked with over the years had ever unnerved him as this pair did. Those two, working together, could have the world if they so desired.

* * *

Being given free reign of the palace’s stores and armory was like being young children in a sweets shop. Although Cas had always had money, their time at the Bunker was marked with meagre personal possessions. The few weapons they had use of were communal, the white robes and breeches communal as well. They had no belongings of their own, other than the oil salves that the boys picked up on their weekends in town.

They first visited the palace stores. This is where the general supplies for the king’s knights, and the knights’ steeds, were kept. They waved over one of the knights that had walked them through the gate earlier.

“Would you help us with what we take? Can you deliver it to our room at the inn later tonight?” Cas asked politely, noting the remaining terror in the older man’s face.

The knight bowed deeply. “Sir, make a pile in the hall. I will assign a guard to watch over it to make sure your selections are not messed with, and tonight I personally shall help deliver the goods to you.”

“Thank you.” Cas bowed shallowly. “Please wait in the hall and do not disturb us.” He turned to Dean, excited, as the knight left the room, closing the door behind him.

By silent agreement, the young men agreed to pick out new tack and saddles for Vee and Impala, with larger saddlebags to hold their supplies. Cas selected a light-colored leather for his champagne-colored horse, while Dean selected black, polished leather for his black mount. Dean hauled the saddles out into the hallway and returned to Cas.

Cas had picked up a warm bedroll and showed it to Dean, with an eyebrow raised. The two could afford to stay at inns every night, but they had both enjoyed—even preferred—camping.

“Yes,” Dean said. “Unless we need baths.”

“Of course,” Cas replied. “You smell too bad if you go too many days without.”

Dean playfully smacked his partner. They gathered other camping gear, including waxed canvas sheets, ropes, and flint. They were well-stocked on clothing from the Lebanon tailor, but they snagged a few cloaks, stockings, and undershorts before returning to the hall. Throwing the gear in the pile, they made their way to the king’s personal armory.

The weapons were beautiful—the finest tempered steels, sharp edges, and master craftsmanship. Their mouths gaped open as they stared at the selection and then stared at one another. With matching wicked smiles, the boys began to look over the weapons and select their preferences.

Cas, unsurprisingly, went to the swords first, picking out a long steel blade with a slight curve. The blade was so thin and sharp it slit one of Cas’s hairs in two. He grabbed the sword and its sheath, buckling it to his belt. After a second, he grabbed an additional rapier and added it to his belt as well. He also selected a crossbow, light and perfectly balanced. He attached the bow and a quiver of bolts to a harness, slipping it over his chest so the quiver and bow laid against his back. Finally, Cas selected a number of daggers, slipping them into his boots and into the hidden gauntlets on his forearms.

On the other side of the room, Dean was making similar preparations. A thick and heavy broadsword, which he swung around a few times to determine its balance, made its way to his belt. He stocked his person with daggers much like Cas, but added a bandolier across his chest that he filled with even more daggers. Into his pockets, he slipped a pair of brass knuckles, studded with sharp points.

Together, they looked over the suits of armor. Silently, they agreed against taking any mail or plate armor. The added weight would slow them down, and they were assassins, not knights. If they did their job appropriately, their foes and targets would be dead before they could even land a blow on the boys.

On their way out of the armory, Dean also helped himself to some of the king’s royal jewels. Cas rolled his eyes when he turned to see Dean standing next to him in a shiny gold tiara.

“Put it back, Dean.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t look this good.”

“Need I remind you I grew up wearing tiaras? And I do so look good.” Cas smiled as he pulled a silver circlet he’d stolen from the jewel collection and placed it on his head. “I’m very handsome.”

“That you are,” Dean said, kissing the younger man’s forehead.

Hiding their respective stolen crowns—it wasn’t that they wanted to hide the fact that they’d taken them, as they didn’t really care, but that they couldn’t wear them in the streets of the city without drawing attention—they slipped through the palace gate and headed into town.

In the inn, settled in their room, they decided to rest for a few hours before exploring the city’s nightlife. Reaching into his doublet, Cas pulled out his circlet and rested it on his head, making kissy faces at Dean. The older boy put his tiara on and met Cas’s lips, pushing the younger man back onto the bed. Cas’s mouth opened gently to allow Dean’s tongue admittance, and they explored one another’s mouths without actual intent to take it further at the moment.

“Dean, I must confess something to you,” Cas panted as Dean nuzzled his neck. “The crown was not the only thing I took from the jewel collection.”

Dean leaned back slightly and looked at Cas quizzically. With nervous hands, Cas reached into his doublet’s inner pocket and withdrew a ring—gold, a simple band, with a large emerald embedded in the center.

“I was—I mean—what I want to ask is, will-you-do-me-the-honor-of-marrying-me?” Cas’s olive skin turned pink under the strength of his blush.

Dean smirked and reached into his own pocket, withdrawing a similar ring—this one silver and sapphire-studded. “Great minds think alike, Cas.”

“Gods, Dean,” Cas whispered, kissing his partner. “I love you.”

“And I you,” Dean said, placing his ring on Cas’s finger. Cas returned the favor, and each boy couldn’t keep his eyes away from his new jewelry. “I mean, I know we can’t actually get married—legally, that is. I doubt it’s against the will of the gods, but the keepers of their temples are opposed. It would require a writ by the king, and I think he’d rather publicly pretend you and I don’t exist,” Dean said.

“Does that really matter to you? We don’t need to promise anything to the kingdom or to the gods, just to each other. Maybe a small ceremony at the Bunker with the masters. We can invite your mom and Sammy, too.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet them, Cas. They’re going to love you. Or at least, they’d better. Maybe we can invite your cousin Gabriel as well.”

At that, Cas laughed. “I doubt he’d be able to come. After all, assuming we do our job right, he will be king soon.” Dean joined in his laughter.

After laying down and resting for a few hours, the knight from the palace came to deliver their goods. Once their room was full, they changed into more casual, middle class merchant clothing and headed to a nearby tavern to get dinner.

With dinner, they both ordered ales—it was Cas’s first time drinking alcohol, and he became inebriated quickly. Dean had more experience, but it had been years since he’d drank so much. It was ironic—they’d spent years building tolerances to poisons, but had never had similar training for spirits. And the barmaids continued bringing the handsome young men drinks, hoping to catch one of their eyes, not knowing that each was already taken by the other.

That is to say, the barmaids didn’t know that they were together, until Cas and Dean were drunk. Then, the two men were all over one another. Holding hands, stealing kisses, crooning affirmations of love. The barmaids were split—half thought it was sickeningly and over-the-top mushy, and the other half thought it romantic.

“You could’ve been a prince,” Cas slurred at Dean, fingering the bridge of his partner’s nose.

“Shush, is a secret,” Dean whispered loudly, though no one would have known what they were talking about anyway. “But no, you should’ve been a prince. I mean, born one.”

“Not a princess, you mean.” Cas took another messy sip of his ale. “But then I wouldn’t have met you. And I love you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Cas was confused.

“Why do you love me?”

“Feeling insecure?” Cas smiled dopily at the other man. “You’re smart—gods, so smart, you don’t even know. You’re strong, and funny, and kind most of the time. And—ugh, you’re so hot, so gods-damned sexy, I can’t barely help myself around you.” Cas patted Dean’s knee sloppily, his hand unintentionally brushing against the other man’s member.

Dean blushed. “No, you—you’re the smart one. Your mind—always working, so fast. I don’t even—yeah. And your body—gods. So muscular but lean, unnaturally flexible—not complaining, mind—and so… so beautiful. You’re beautiful, Cas.”

Cas hiccupped, and turned slightly green. “We should—” He spit up ale and bile on the tavern floor.

“—get out of here quickly? Good plan,” Dean finished for him, laying coins on the table and manhandling his smaller partner out the door. Collapsing in their room at the inn, Dean prayed briefly that they wouldn’t be too hungover when they left for Empyrea the next day.

* * *

Five days into their ride to Empyrea, and Cas and Dean were in good spirits. They’d quickly realized that camping sex was not the best idea—they both had bug bites in incredibly uncomfortable and intimate places—but they enjoyed the simple pleasures of kissing and rutting against one another in the moonlight.

That morning, the pair had officially passed into the Empyrean Empire. They’d chosen a small merchant road off the beaten path to enter the kingdom. There was no way station or border control there.

“Do we have a plan yet?” Dean asked as they pulled aside to rest their horses for a few minutes.

“Hmm?” Cas hummed, distracted with brushing down Vee.

“A plan. For when we get there. You know the king and the palace better than I.”

“Oh, yeah. We should probably come up with one.” Cas put the brush down and considered Dean. “Ruse or stealth?”

“Both?”

“Both is good. The only thing is that I—I want it to be up close. No crossbow or anything like that. I want to—I need to see his eyes.”

“Daggers? Maybe we can do it together, our first kill—one dagger from me, and one from you.”

Cas nodded and drew Dean in for a kiss. “Together.”

Once Vee and Impala had rested, and the pair of Hunters had snacked on jerky and dried fruit, they saddled up again. For several more days, they rode through the morning, took a break at the hottest part of the afternoon, and rode again through the evening until stopping for the night.

“Cas?” Dean said into the silence of their last night on the road. “I’ve got a question.” Cas just snuggled further against his lover—fiancé—and hummed. “When we get to King Michael, are you planning—do you want him to know who you are?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Cas admitted. “To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll know until I actually see him. The… pain he put me through, the cruelty. Part of me wants him to know that it’s his lost ‘daughter’ who killed him. But at the same time, other than revenge, what does it really get me?”

“I don’t know, Cas. I can’t answer that for you.”

Cas sighed. “I know. I’ll think more on it.”

“Whatever you decide is the right answer,” Dean said. “I support you either way.”

The two huddled closer together on their bedrolls. The next morning they would enter the capital city and get a room at an inn, where they would put their assassination plan into action.

The inn they had selected was in the upper city, where the higher nobles and wealthiest of the merchants lived. They strode in wearing their finest clothes, throwing coins around, tipping each stablehand or serving girl they came into contact with. Getting their customary single room with a single bed—the honeymoon suite, this time—they requested champagne and fruit service be sent to their chambers.

Their plan was to be as ostentatious as possible. This was going to be a public kill. Cas and Dean didn’t worry too much about showing their faces—for one thing, it was unlikely King John would send them to Empyrea again once the nations’ animosity was resolved. For another thing, tonight they had preened themselves, applying makeup and wearing their ridiculous crowns, and would not be recognized as the solemn-looking young men they actually were.

“I’m a painted whore,” Dean said once they arrived in their room as he examined his face in the mirrored glass.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas said earnestly.

“Suck up.”

The two took a quick nap before their evening plans. They were going out on the town, to be as loud, flashy, rich, and in love as they could possibly be. Maybe even some public indecency to cause a scandal. And then, if need be, repeat the act for several more nights. Cas knew King Michael’s vanity and need to meet high-rollers in his town, and the king wouldn’t be able to stop himself from sending the pair an invitation for an audience.

Opening their canvas garment bags, the men pulled out their most ridiculous court finery. Cas had laughed hysterically when the tailor Benny had first shown them the outfits, while Dean had blanched and felt nauseous. But now they finally had an excuse to wear them. Cas was excited. Dean, not so much.

Cas got dressed first. White shoes and white stockings, bright green (and incredibly short) velvet breeches, and a tight sky-blue silk doublet, embroidered all over with plump bumblebees. A large, white leather codpiece accentuated his groin. Atop his head, he laid the circlet he’d stolen.

Spinning in front of his partner, Cas asked, “What do you think?”

“Actually,” Dean said, standing up and walking around Cas, “not too bad. Kind of sexy. Though—” Dean smashed their pelvises together “—with that absurd codpiece, it’s awful difficult to rub against you.”

“I guess we’ll have to find a way later—in public, and quite loudly, obviously—to get around that.” Cas chuckled, standing aside so that Dean could get ready.

Dean’s shoes and stockings were white as well, but his breeches were skin-tight, bright scarlet, and came down to his mid-calves. A less prominent codpiece of black velvet covered his groin. A red shift, which only buttoned halfway up his chest, was topped with a black velvet doublet, similarly low-cut. The doublet was trimmed with red leather and embroidered in gold with flowers. Around his neck, across his bare chest, he wore a pearl necklace. He placed his gold tiara on his head and gave Cas a mocking bow.

“So handsome,” Cas said, smiling. “It’s almost a shame I have to wait until we’re in public to take you.”

“Flatterer,” Dean said, kissing the younger man’s cheek and offering his arm. “Shall we?”

Together, the Hunters stepped out of the inn and into the bustling streets. The upper city of Empyrea had a robust nightlife—it was, after all, where Prince Gabriel lived. On each corner was a tavern, a club, or a whorehouse, with revelers walking down the street intoxicated on alcohol or other substances.

To be honest, Cas and Dean were a little disgusted by the hedonism. Their past three years had been reliant on strict discipline, and they were uncomfortable around such displays. Though they were frequently physically affectionate with one another, they were never so… so sloppy about it. And their one foray into drunkenness wasn’t one they wanted to repeat any time soon. 

At least this would be only a performance for them—similar to the roleplaying they did in Master Crowley’s class at the Bunker. They’d decided earlier to make it a contest, with each Hunter trying to outdo the other in terms of outlandishness.

A sad string quartet began to play in front of a closed building, busking for pennies. Cas grabbed Dean’s hand and dragged him towards the music. The younger boy offered a mocking bow to Dean and presented his hand. Blushing, Dean took the proffered hand and they began to dance. At first, Dean took the role of the woman dance partner. However, they slowly stopped following formal steps and began to grind against each other.

A woman gasped behind them as they began to kiss passionately. But when Cas groped Dean’s ass, a guard’s whistle blew and the pair quickly broke apart, giggling and grabbing hands as they ran from the copper.

“This is actually kind of fun,” Dean panted as they slipped into an alleyway.

Cas captured Dean’s mouth. “Only because it’s with you.”

Checking whether the coast was clear of guards, they exited the alley and headed towards the common square. They made sure to be seen by all, so that tales of their wealth and debauchery would make it back to King Michael. Talking loudly about inappropriate things, standing on a balcony and throwing gold coins at attractive women (and men), and making ludicrous conversation with any and all who would listen to them.

The fountain in the center of the square had been calling to Dean all night. Hoping he wouldn’t ruin their shoes too badly, he picked up the younger boy, sprinted to the fountain, and tossed Cas into the water. As people around them gasped, Cas rose up and surged forward, grabbing Dean and dragging him back into the water with him.

While the spectators watched them wrestle in the fountain, and a few more proper citizens ran off to find guards, Dean and Cas became soaked as they flipped one another over. Somehow—an act of athleticism that none of the spectators could identify—within a minute Dean was standing in the knee-deep water, his codpiece wrenched off, and Cas crouched in front of him, the other Hunter’s member deep in his throat.

Dean threw his head back, moaning loudly. Several women in the square fainted at the sight and sound, while others flushed with arousal.

A guard had arrived, blowing his whistle rabidly, and he pulled Cas off of Dean. Dean, slowly and deliberately, looking at the guard, tucked himself into his breeches and retied his codpiece. Both young men had dopey grins on their faces, making eyes at each other.

Slapping cuffs on them both, the guard led them to the nearest station the next street over. But once inside the station, Cas asked in his most commanding voice to see the commander, his tone brooking no disagreement.

Offering the commander 500 gold to let them go, he promised that they would behave themselves from there on out. The commander didn’t know, of course, that it was a lie—if tonight’s behavior hadn’t piqued the king’s interest, they’d repeat the performance tomorrow. But the commander accepted the promise—and bribe—at face value. Pocketing the gold, he released Cas and Dean.

The guard who’d arrested the pair, angered at their success in bribing his supervisor, slipped away to tell a friend who worked in the palace guard. If news of this bribery made its way to the king, maybe the commander would lose his post, and the guard could advance.

* * *

News of the bribery did make it to King Michael, and the reaction was the one the Hunters were hoping for.

A knock at their door awoke Cas and Dean. In the hallway of the inn stood a foot servant, dressed in the Empyrea royal colors, holding a silver tray on which a single envelope stood. Cas grabbed the envelope without so much as greeting the servant and slammed the door in the man’s face.

“Invitation’s here,” Cas said, waiving the envelope at Dean. He broke the king’s personal wax seal to read the letter—King Michael’s own words, but obvious to Cas that the king’s scribe Metatron had done the actual writing.

“Ngh,” Dean groaned, still half asleep. “Read it to me.”

“Gentlemen, new to the Empyrean capital, blah blah blah. We wish you welcome to our Empire and desire meeting your lordships personally. Call on the center gate at noon today.” 

The letter was unsigned, but the king’s seal on the envelope was sufficient for them to know it was from him.

“Three hours,” Cas said to Dean, who was still waking up. “Looks like it’s time to get ready.”

“Ugh, piss off,” Dean mumbled, but he rolled out of bed anyway.

This day, the young men weren’t wearing flippant, formal clothes as they had the night prior. No, today was about strength, stealth, and—hopefully—a bit of stabbing. They were unknown in Empyrea, so they didn’t require disguises.

Dean wore a dark green—so dark it was almost black—doublet and matching long breeches. He pulled on black leather boots and a black leather jerkin. Under the jerkin, he slid the bandolier full of daggers across his chest. Additional daggers were shoved into his sleeves, boots, and waistband. For show only, he buckled the broadsword around his waist.

Cas was similarly dark—navy doublet and short breeches, under which were black stockings. Daggers were stuffed into his boots and sleeves, as well as in the small of his neck and in garters he cinched around his thighs. He also buckled a sword—the rapier—around his waist.

Sharing a chaste kiss at the door of their room, the young somber-looking men stepped into the inn hallway, out onto the streets, and began their walk to the palace.

They were met at the center gate by a confused guard, who had been expecting two outrageous fops rather than the serious teenagers in front of him. It took some convincing, showing of the invitation, and a small bribe for the guard to let them in. He made them remove their swords and scabbards before leading them to a sitting room.

The solarium, Cas remembered. He’d liked to come here as a child when it was raining, so he could hear the drops fall on the glass ceiling. It hadn’t changed in the past three years. Nothing had changed, really. It was just another reminder to Cas that he had never mattered here.

It wasn’t empty or quiet in the room—it appeared as though the king was entertaining several other guests at the moment. Multiple members of the king’s council, Cas recognized, were playing cards around a small table. A few men were talking, drinking, and smoking cigars—including Duke Zachariah of Adler. Cas elbowed Dean and pointed out the portly man.

“You were engaged to that?” Dean said. Cas nodded. “No wonder you ran away. I have to say, you really upgraded.”

Cas let loose a small smile and a genuine blush. They were playing today serious, but it was hard to hide his love for Dean. The pair lowered themselves onto a single settee and, with their sides together and chastely holding hands, they chatted in low voices.

King Michael had entered the room and was making rounds. The Hunters were planning on remaining sitting and allowing the king to come to them. When he did, Cas was surprised—shocked—to see his cousin Gabriel with the king, looking gaunt and worn. Clearly, being heir to the throne had negatively affected the man.

Squeezing Dean’s hand, Cas stood and bowed deeply to the king and prince. Dean followed suit.

“Your majesty,” Dean said demurely.

“Young men, um—” the king said, indicating that they should give their names.

“Dean Campbell, sire. And this is my fiancé Castiel.”

“Oh, I never—” King Michael said, scandalized that the two men were in a relationship, even though he’d heard of their exploits from the previous night. “I must say, I haven’t seen such a wildly hedonistic display since—” he began to gesture to the prince next to him.

“Ah yes, since Gabe used to have free reign. Last I heard, you were chasing bendy circus girls. What in the gods’ name has happened to you, cousin?” Cas asked.

Gabriel blinked. “Cassie?”

Cas smiled softly. “In the flesh. I’ve missed you. You however—” he turned to the king, his father “—I have not missed.”

The king had turned red, his eyes bulging, nostrils flaring. “Cassandra,” he hissed under his breath.

“No, father,” Cas said loudly—loud enough for all the men in the room to turn and look at the interaction. “It’s not Cassandra anymore. As my fiancé has said, my name is Castiel. I suppose it would still be Castiel Novak, but I find myself not wanting to use our family name anymore for some odd reason.”

The men in the room gasped and begun to murmur once they realized what was going on. Gabe was white and wide-eyed. Cas continued to speak in a strong voice, but Dean could feel the young man shaking beside him. He snaked an arm around Cas’s waist to help the boy stay up.

“I’ve heard the stories, dearest daddy, about the stableboy. Did you come up with it yourself? Were you too proud to admit to your citizens that you’d orchestrated the gang rape of your only daughter and were selling her off like a broodmare to a man three times her age?”

“Cassandra, how dare—”

“How dare I?” Cas said, eerily calm. He squeezed Dean’s hand—their signal to ready their daggers. “No, father, the question to ask is how dare you? I was a child, father. Innocent. And you took that from me. You’re a beast, a savage. A disgrace. You have no right to be king.”

Together, Dean and Cas lunged forward, each slashing a line across the older man’s throat. Surprised, the king raised a hand to his neck, where he was quickly bleeding out from the twin cuts, and tried to speak. No words came out. King Michael died, his body slumping to the floor.

Many of the men in the room had been knights of the Empire at some point, and the Hunters quickly found themselves surrounded at swordpoint. Cas and Dean dropped their daggers to the floor and raised their hands in submission. They wouldn’t go quietly, of course; if need be, they’d murder every last one of these men. The former knights didn’t know that, however.

“Wait,” Gabriel rasped. “Put your swords down.”

The knights, confused, looked at each other before obeying the prince. Or king, they supposed. Since Gabriel was King Michael’s heir, that made him king now.

To everyone’s surprise, Gabe flung himself through the air and wrapped his younger cousin in a large hug. “Cassie,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “You’re alive, thank the gods. Turned into quite the gentleman too, I see. I have missed you so much.”

“And I you, cousin.” Cas returned the hug solidly, and neither moved for several minutes. Slowly and reluctantly pulling away, Cas motioned to the other Hunter. “Gabe, this is my partner and fiancé Dean.”

“Dean,” Gabriel said in wonder, shaking the other man’s hand.

“I’ve heard so much about you, I’m glad we are finally meeting, Gabe—or it is King Gabriel now?” Dean said.

Gabriel blanched. “Fuck.” He looked around panicked at all the men in the room. “Clear out, please. I must have audience with these young men,” he commanded them. Soon, only Gabriel, Cas, Dean, and the king’s dead body remained. The three living men could hear knights begin to gather outside the door.

“Gabe…”

“Cassie. I don’t want it. I never wanted it. How am I supposed to—” Gabriel began sobbing, his golden eyes rimmed red.

Dean reached for Cas’s hands and pulled the younger man so that they were facing one another. A silent communication—a battle—raged between their faces. Cas indicating his guilt and shame at doing this to his cousin, his helplessness. Dean expressing sympathy and love. Cas getting an idea—an awful, ridiculous, idiotic, and impulsive idea. Dean saying no, never, you must be joking. Cas, with blue puppy dog eyes, pleading. And Dean’s green eyes relenting, but indicating that they would talk about it later.

“I’ll do it,” Cas said. “I’m still the rightful heir. There are plenty of ways to prove it. I’ll take the crown, so you don’t have to.”

“You—you would—but Cassie, you escaped. You got out of this life. Don’t let it suck you back in.”

“I know what I’m saying, Gabe. You saved me years ago—gave me the chance to shape my own life, at the cost of your own. I—we, Dean and I—we can do this.”

Gabriel looked at the pair in wonderment. “What—what do I call you?”

Cas chuckled. “King Castiel Novak of Empyrea, I presume. Or should that be King Castiel Campbell?” he asked Dean.

“Keep it Novak formally. Less confusing for the citizens. But, when it’s just us, I would be honored if you take my last name.” Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’s.

Sensing a private moment coming, Gabriel told the pair that he would step out of the room to address the knights in the hallway and attempt to let the counsel know what was going on—and of the new kingship. He quickly left the solarium.

“Cas, you idiot,” Dean said, still pressed against Cas.

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything about running a country.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know anything about running a country.”

“I know.”

“What in the gods’ names are we supposed to do?”

“Wing it?” Cas replied. The answer was so absurd that it caused Dean to chuckle, causing Cas to laugh, and the two fell against each other in near hysterics. As they collapsed on the settee, they slowly stopped laughing and began kissing instead, breathing heavily in each other’s ear.

They’d done it. They’d killed their first target.

Of course, the future of their role as Hunters for King John was a little messy, now that they were technically his political rival. But, given that King John was Dean’s biological father (and would that be King Dean Campbell, or Queen Dean Novak?) it was unlikely that there would be continued animosity between the kingdoms.

Dean was situated on top of his partner, with a thigh between the other’s legs, slowly picking all the daggers from Cas’s garments and laying them in a pile on the floor near the body of Cas’s dead father.

“You missed one at the small of my back,” Cas said, arching up and pressing into the man above him. Dean felt around Cas’s back but there were no more daggers.

“You minx,” Dean said, capturing Cas’s mouth. Cas removed Dean’s jerkin and the dagger-laden bandolier, and began to remove the other man’s hidden daggers as well. The pile on the floor grew.

“I love you, Dean Campbell,” Cas said against Dean’s mouth.

“I love you, Castiel Campbell,” Dean said, rolling his hips and throbbing erection against Cas’s pelvis. “Now, I’m pretty sure there was a blow job yesterday that was interrupted…?”

Cas laughed and flipped the pair over. “I’ll suck you off,” Cas purred, unlacing Dean’s breeches, “but afterwards, I’m going to make love to you until you’re too sore to ride for a week.”

“Deal,” Dean said, brushing his hands through Cas’s hair. King Castiel’s hair. What in the gods’ names had they gotten themselves into?


End file.
